Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows
by Iron writer
Summary: "You could pretened to be anyone in the world, why pretend you're an ordinary schoolboy" armed only with a false ID and a handful of gadgets JIN 7 agent Matt ishida is off to the mysterious Shadow Academy. Death is wating for matt, in the shadows.
1. Falling in the Black

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 1: Falling in the Black**

Paul A. Jones was a careful man. The car that drove him to work at quarter past seven each morning was a custom-made Mercedes with reinforced steel plates and bulletproof windows. His driver, a retired FBI agent, carried a Beretta subcompact automatic pistol and knew how to use it. There were just five steps from the point where the car stopped to the entrance of Jones Tower on New York's Fifth Avenue, but closed-circuit television cameras followed him every inch of the way. Once the automatic doors had slid shut behind him, a uniformed guard-also armed-watched as he crossed the foyer and entered his own private elevator.

The elevator had white marble walls, a blue carpet, a silver handrail, and no buttons. Jones pressed his hand against a small glass panel. A sensor read his fingerprints, verified them, and activated the elevator. The doors slid shut and the elevator rose to the sixtieth floor without stopping. Nobody else ever used it. Nor did it ever stop at any of the other floors in the building. At the same time it was travelling up, the receptionist in the lobby was on the telephone, letting his staff know that Mr. Jones was on his way. Everyone who worked in Jones's private office had been handpicked and thoroughly vetted. It was impossible to see him without an appointment. Getting an appointment could take three months. When you're rich, you have to be careful. There are cranks, kidnappers, terrorists-the desperate and the dispossessed. Paul A. Jones was the chairman of Jones Electronics and the ninth or tenth richest man in the world and he was very careful indeed. Ever since his face had appeared on the front cover of Time magazine ("The Electronics Wizard"), he knew that he had become a visible target. When in public he walked quickly, with his head bent. His glasses had been chosen to hide as much as possible of his round, handsome face.

His suits were expensive but anonymous. If he went to the theatre or to dinner, he always arrived at the last minute, preferring not to hang around. There were dozens of different security systems in his life, and although they had once annoyed him, he had allowed them to become routine. But ask any spy or security agent. Routine is the one thing that can get you killed. It tells the enemy where you're going and when you're going to be there. Routine was going to kill Paul A. Jones, and this was the day death had chosen to come calling.

Of course, Jones had no idea of this as he stepped out of the elevator that opened directly into his private office, a huge room occupying the corner of the building with floor-to-ceiling windows giving views in two directions: Fifth Avenue to the east, Central Park just a few blocks south. The two remaining walls contained a door, a low book shelf, and a single oil painting-a vase of flowers by Vincent van Gogh.

The black glass surface of his desk was equally uncluttered: a computer, a leather notebook, a telephone, and a framed photograph of a fourteen-year-old boy. As he took off his jacket and sat down, Jones found himself looking at the picture of the boy. Blond hair, blue eyes, and freckles. Arthur P. Jones looked remarkably like his father had thirty years ago. Paul Jones was now fifty-two and beginning to show his age despite his year-round tan. His son was almost as tall as he was. The picture had been taken the summer before, on Long Island. They had spent the day sailing. Then they'd had a barbecue on the beach. It had been one of the few happy days they'd ever spent together. The door opened and his secretary came in. Helen Munday was English. She had left her home and, indeed, her husband to come and work in New York, and still loved every minute of it. She had been working in this office for eleven years, and in all that time she had never forgotten a detail or made a mistake.

"Good morning, Mr. Jones," she said.

"Good morning, Helen." She put a folder on his desk. "The latest figures from Singapore. Costings on the R- 15 Organizer. You have lunch with Senator Andrews at half past twelve. I've booked The Ivy."

"Did you remember to call Tomoeda?" Jones asked. Helen blinked. She never forgot anything, so why had he asked?

"'I spoke to Korindo Ooishi's office yesterday afternoon," she said. Afternoon in New York would have been evening in Tomoeda. "Mr. Ooishi was not available, but I've arranged a person-to-person call with you this afternoon. We can have it patched through to your car."

"Thank you, Helen."

"Shall I have your coffee sent in to you?"

"No, thank you, Helen. I won't have coffee today." Helen Munday left the room, seriously alarmed. No coffee? What next? Mr. Jones had begun his day with a double espresso for as long as she had known him. Could it be that he was ill? He certainly hadn't been himself recently not since Arthur had returned home from that school in the South of France. And these phones call to Korindo Ooishi in Tomoeda! Nobody had ever told her who he was, but she had seen his name once in a file. He had something to do with military intelligence. JIN 7. What was Mr. Jones doing, talking to a spy? Helen returned to her office and soothed her nerves, not with coffee-she couldn't stand the stuff-but with a refreshing cup of English breakfast tea. Something very strange was going on, and she didn't like it. She didn't like it at all.

Meanwhile, sixty floors below, a man had walked into the lobby area wearing gray overalls with an ID badge attached to his chest. The badge identified him as Sam Green, maintenance engineer with VERITAS elevator Inc. He was carrying a briefcase in one hand and a large silver toolbox in the other. He set them both down in front of the reception desk. Sam Green was not his real name. His hair-black and a little greasy-was fake, as were his glasses, Moustache, and uneven teeth. He looked fifty years old, but he was actually closer to thirty. Nobody knew the man's real name, but in the business that he was in, a name was the last thing he could afford. He was known merely as "Shelly De Killer," and he was one of the highest-paid and most successful contract killers in the world. He had been given his nickname because he always sent a necklace of puka shells to the families of his victims.

The lobby guard glanced at him.

"I'm here for the elevator," he said. He spoke with a Bronx accent even though he had never spent more than a week there in his life.

"What about it?" the guard asked. "You people were here last week."

"Yeah, Sure. We found a defective cable on elevator twelve. It had to be replaced, but we didn't have the parts. So they sent me back." Shelly De Killer fished in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper.

"You want to call the head office? I've got my orders here." If the guard had called VERITAS Elevators Inc., he would have discovered that they did indeed employ a Sam Green although he hadn't shown up for work in two days. This was because the real Sam

Green was at the bottom of the Hudson River with a knife in his back and a twenty-pound block of concrete attached to his foot. But the guard didn't make the call. Shelly De Killer had guessed he wouldn't bother. After all, the elevators were always breaking down. There were engineers in and out all the time. What difference would one more make?

The guard jerked a thumb.

"Go ahead," he said. Shelly De Killer put away the letter, picked up his cases, and went over to the elevators. There were a dozen servicing the skyscraper, plus a thirteenth for Paul A Jones. Elevator number twelve was at the end. As he went in, a delivery boy with a parcel tried to follow.

"Sorry," Shelly De Killer said. "Closed for maintenance." The doors slid shut. He was on his own. He pressed the button for the sixty first floor. He had been given this job only a week before. He'd had to work fast, killing the real maintenance engineer, taking his identity, learning the layout of Jones Tower, and getting his hands on the sophisticated piece of equipment he had known he would need. His employers wanted the multimillionaire eliminated as quickly as possible. More importantly, it had to look like an accident. For this, Shelly De Killer had demanded-and been paid-one hundred thousand dollars. The money was to be paid into a bank account in Switzerland; half now, half on completion. The elevator door opened again. The sixty-first floor was used primarily for maintenance. This was where the water tanks were housed, as well as the computers that controlled the heat, air-conditioning, security cameras, and elevators throughout the building. Shelly De Killer turned off the elevator, using the manual override key that had once belonged to Sam Green, then went over to the computers. He knew exactly where they were. In fact, he could have found them wearing a blindfold. He opened his briefcase. There were two sections to the case. The lower part was a laptop computer. The upper lid was fitted with a number of drills and other tools, each of them strapped into place.

It took him fifteen minutes to cut his way into the Jones Tower mainframe and connect his own laptop to the circuitry inside. Hacking his way past the Jones security systems took a little longer, but at last it was done. He tapped a command into his keyboard. On the floor below, Paul A. Jones private elevator did something it had never done before. It raised one extra floor-to level sixty one. The door, however, remained closed. Shelly De Killer did not need to get in. Instead, he picked up the briefcase and the silver toolbox and carried them back into the same elevator he had taken from the lobby. He turned the override key and pressed the button for the fifty ninth floor. Once again, he deactivated the elevator. Then he reached up and pushed. The top of the elevator was a trapdoor that opened outward. He pushed the briefcase and the silver box ahead of him, then pulled himself up and climbed onto the roof of the elevator. He was now standing inside the main shaft of Jones Tower. He was surrounded on four sides by girders and pipes blackened with oil and dirt. Thick steel cables hung down, some of them humming as they carried their loads. Looking down, he could see a seemingly endless square tunnel illuminated only by the chinks of light from the doors that slid open and shut again as the other elevators arrived at various floors. Somehow the breeze had made its way in from the street, spinning dust that stung his eyes.

Next to him was a set of elevator doors that, had he opened them, would have led him straight into Jones's office. Above these, over his head and a few yards to the right, was the underbelly of Jones's private elevator. The toolbox was next to him, on the roof of the elevator. Carefully, he opened it. The sides of the case were lined with thick sponge. Inside, in the specialty moulded space, was what looked like a complicated film projector, silver and concave with a thick glass lens. He took it out, and then glanced at his watch. Eight thirty-five A.M. It would take him an hour to connect the device to the bottom of Jones's elevator, and a little more to ensure that it was working. He had plenty of time. Smiling to himself, Shelly De Killer took out a power screwdriver and began to work. At twelve o'clock, Helen Munday called on the telephone. "Your car is here, Mr. Jones."

"Thank you, Helen." Jones hadn't done much that morning. He had been aware that only half his mind was on his work. Once again, he glanced at the photograph on his desk. Arthur. How could things have gone so wrong between a father and a son? And what could have happened in the last few months, to make them so much worse? He stood up, put his jacket on, and walked across his office, on his way to lunch with Senator Andrews. He often had lunch with politicians. They wanted either his money, his ideas-or him. Anyone as rich as Jones made for a powerful friend, and politicians need all the friends they can get. He pressed the elevator button, and the doors slid open. He took one step forward. The last thing Paul A. Jones saw in his life was the inside of his elevator with its white marble walls, blue carpet, and silver handrail. His right foot, wearing a black leather shoe that was handmade for him by a small shop in Rome, travelled down to the carpet and kept going-right through it. The rest of his body followed, tilting into the elevator and then through it. And then he was falling sixty floors to his death. He was so surprised by what had happened, so totally unable to understand what had happened, that he didn't even cry out. He simply fell into the blackness of the elevator shaft, bounced twice off the walls, then crashed into the solid concrete of the basement, five hundred yards below.

The elevator remained where it was. It looked solid but, in fact, it wasn't there at all. What Jones had stepped into was a hologram, an image being projected into the empty space of the elevator shaft where the real elevator should have been. Shelly De Killer had programmed the door to open when Jones pressed the call button, and had quietly watched him step into oblivion. If the multimillionaire had managed to look up for a moment, he would have seen the silver hologram projector, beaming the image, a few yards above him. But a man getting into an elevator on his way to lunch does not look up. Shelly De Killer had known this. And he was never wrong. At 12:35, the chauffeur called up to say that Mr. Jones hadn't arrived at the car. Ten minutes later, Helen Munday alerted security, who began to search around the foyer of the building. At one o'clock, they called the restaurant. The senator was there, waiting for his lunch guest. But Jones hadn't shown up.

In fact, his body wasn't discovered until the next day, by which time the multimillionaire's disappearance had become the lead story on the news. A bizarre accident-that's what it looked like. Nobody could work out what had happened. Because by that time, of course, Shelly De Killer had reprogrammed the computer, removed the projector, and left everything as it should have been before quietly leaving the building. Two days later, a man who looked nothing like a maintenance engineer walked into JFK International Airport. He was about to board a flight for Switzerland. But first, he posted a special parcel to a Mrs. Jones and was sent to a certain address. The man paid with cash. He didn't leave a name. The parcel was full of puka shells.


	2. Black Shadow

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 2: Black Shadow**

The worst time to feel alone is when you're in a crowd. Matt Ishida was walking across the tarmac of the playground, surrounded by hundreds of boys and girls his own age or older. They were heading in the same direction. All wearing the green jackets and grey trousers with the exception of the girls who wore an all green sailor uniform, with the short skirt and Black tie, but probably thinking much the same thoughts. The last lesson of the day had ended. Homework, tea, TV and bed would fill the remaining hours left in the day. Another school day. So why did matt feel so out of place, it was like he was watching the last weeks of term behind a glass screen. Matt jerked the bag over his shoulders as he walked over to the bike shed; he felt the weight of the homework in his bag… double Japanese and science. He had missed two weeks of school and he was having to work hard to catch up. Suddenly a voice called behind him, a sweet girl's voice. As he turned round he saw a girl rollerblading up to him, her soft green eyes looked at him and her brown hair shone in the sun. She was wearing pink roller blades on her feet but skated gracefully, her name was sakura Avalon. She was out of breath; she must of saw matt and rollerbladed straight on over to him.

"You doing anything tonight?" she asked. Matt jerked a thumb towards his back pack and said sadly.

"Yeah, double Japanese and science. Sorry sakura." As she looked at him, she brushed some stray hairs out of his eyes and looked at his worn out face, she knew school was a drag and tiring but he looked beyond that.

"Are you alright, matt? I've hardly seen you all week, and you seem-"

"I'm fine sakura!" he snapped. Sakura was startled by Matt's outburst. As matt sighed and learnt up against the wall he then said to sakura. "I'm sorry sakura, I didn't mean to snap, it's just…it's not being able to turn anyone of what I did, you know? Having all my friends thinking I was off for three weeks with the Flu, that I'm some pampered idiot. It's driving me absolutely bonkers." Sakura briefly giggled she learnt towards matts face and said with a smile.

"Bored more like." Matt was surprised to hear that from sakura. "You just can't wait for your secret agent beeper to go off, that's your trouble matt." As matt shrugged he said to sakura shaking his head.

"I told you, I'm not a spy…not anymore anyways. It would be more exciting than doing double homework, though." As sakura walked with matt, she knew he was having a rough time catching up. He had missed three weeks of school and was working hard to catch up. His teachers had not been sympathetic. Nobody had said as much, but when he had finally returned with a doctor's letter ("a bad dose of flu with complications") they had nodded and smiled and secretly thought him a little bit pampered and spoiled.

On the other hand, they had to make allowances. They all knew that Matt came from a broken family, that he had been living with his father who had died in some sort of car accident. But even so. Three weeks in bed! Even his friends had to admit that was a bit much. And he couldn't tell them the truth. He wasn't allowed to tell anyone what had really happened. Only she and Madison knew the truth. That was the hell of it. As sakura looked at him she saw that matt was looking around him, at the children streaming through the school gates, some dribbling soccer balls, some on their cell phones. He looked at the teachers, curling themselves into their second hand cars. Matt thought at first, the whole school had somehow changed while he was away. But deep down he knew now that what had happened was worse. Everything was the same. He was the one who had changed. Matt was fifteen years old, an ordinary schoolboy in an ordinary west Tomoeda school. Or he had been. Three weeks before, he had discovered that his father was a secret agent, working for JIN 7. The father-Mahon Ishida-had been murdered, and JIN 7 had forced Matt to take his place. They had given him a crash course in Special Assault Team survival techniques and sent him on a lunatic mission on the South Coast.

He had been chased, shot at, and almost killed. And at the end of it he had been packed off and sent back to school as if nothing had happened. But first they had made him sign the Official Secrets Act. Matt smiled at the memory of it. He didn't need to sign anything. Who would have believed him anyway? Besides those who had already sighed it. But it was the secrecy that was getting to him now. Whenever anyone asked him what he had been doing in the weeks he had been away, he had been forced to tell them that he had been in bed, reading, slouching around the house, whatever. Matt didn't want to boast about what he'd done, but he hated having to deceive his friends. It made him angry. JIN 7 hadn't just put him in danger. They'd locked his whole life in a filing cabinet and thrown away key. He approached the tarmac of the playground and reached up to brush away the single strand of fair hair that had fallen over his eye. Sometimes he wished that the whole business with JIN 7 had never happened. But at the same time-he had to admit it-part of him wanted it all to happen again. Sometimes he felt that he no longer belonged in the safe, comfortable world of Readington Comprehensive high school. Too much had changed. And at the end of the day, anything was better than double homework. As he smiled at her she said to him in a cold matter of fact tone.

"It's not just you who can't talk about it, remember?" she said as she gently tapped him on the head with her fist. "Me and Madison had to sign…" suddenly something caught sakura's eye and her face was twisted in silent anger. Matt noticed this and asked.

"What is it, sakura?"

"It's him." Her voice was nearly rasping with venom. Matt looked where sakura's eyes were and that's was when he saw the beaten-up white car. Back outside the school gates for the second time that week. Everyone knew about the man in the white car. He was in his twenties, bald-headed with two broken stumps where his front teeth should have been and five metal studs in his ear and two in his nose. He didn't advertise his name. When people talked about him, they called him Suzuki, after the make of his car. But some said that his name was John and that he had once been to Readington. If so, he had come back like an unwelcome ghost; here one minute, vanishing the next ... somehow always a few seconds ahead of any passing police car or overly inquisitive teacher. Suzuki sold drugs. He sold soft drugs, like pot and cigarettes, to the younger kids at the elementary school, and harder stuff to any of the older ones stupid enough to buy it. It seemed incredible to Matt that Suzuki could get away with it so easily, dealing his little packets in broad daylight. But of course, there was a code of honour in the school. No one turned anyone in to the police, not even a rat like Suzuki. And there was always the fear that if Suzuki went down, some of the people he supplied-friends, classmates-might go with him. Drugs had never been a huge problem at Readington, but recently that had begun to change. A clutch of seventeen year-olds had started buying Suzuki's goods, and like a stone dropped into a pool, the ripples had rapidly spread. There had been a spate of thefts, as well as one or two nasty bullying incidents-younger children being forced to bring in money for older ones. The stuff Suzuki was selling seemed to get more expensive the more you bought of it, and it hadn't been cheap at the start.

"You know Rita Sasaki was beaten up the other day, and it went straight to Suzuki. Somebody should do something about him."

"yeah." Mat replied "Things have been stolen too, he's poisoning the schools."

Suddenly Suzuki looked up and saw sakura looking his way. He smiled his two front stumps and winked at her, sakura shuddered at the mere thought of him flirting with her. On an impulse she turned round and pretended to kiss Matts cheek. He then rolled his eyes and went back to sorting out the drugs on the front seat. Matts face was blushing sakura's lips were only half a centimetre away yet he could still feel them pressing up against his face.

"Anyways matt, I got to go, I'll see you tomorrow in class, okay?"

"S…Sure sakura!" matt slowly replied. Sakura then started to walk home with Madison who was waiting by the fence for her. As matt watched sakura walked off with Madison he didn't notice someone was coming close to him. Matt didn't realize someone was coming close to him until he bumped into him, not even an apology, just a grunt. Matt turned to watch as a heavy- shouldered boy with dark eyes and serious acne problem across his face lumbered over to the car, paused by the open window, and then continued on his way. He felt a sudden spurt of pure loathing. The boy's name was ZacharyYamazaki. When matt was a student at the Tomoeda elementary, he was nervous, scared and just suffered going through his parents' divorce. Zachary, sakura and Madison were the first to make him feel welcome. Whenever matt was alone, scared or upset Zachary would cheer matt up by telling sakura one of his fabricated stories. The look on her face made matt laugh, he was a good friend, a best friend, a true friend. This year he had been hardworking and popular. Everyone wanted to be with him, but he always chose to be with matt and his other friends. These days, everyone just avoided him. Matt had never thought much about drugs, apart from knowing that he would never take them himself. But he could see that the man in the white car wasn't poisoning just a handful of dumb kids. He was poisoning the whole school and poisoning the very heart of Matt's life. A policeman on foot patrol appeared, walking toward the gate. A moment later, the white car was gone, black smut bubbling from a faulty exhaust. Matt was on his bike before he knew what he was doing, pedalling fast out of the yard and swerving around the school secretary, who also was on her way home.

"Not too fast, Matt!" she called out, sighing when he ignored her. Miss bridle had always had a soft spot for Matt without knowing quite why. And she alone in the school had wondered if there hadn't been more to his absence than the doctor's note had suggested. The white Suzuki accelerated down the road, turning left and then right and Matt thought he was going to lose it. But then it twisted through the maze of back streets that led up to the Shonoko Street and hit the inevitable four o'clock traffic jam, coming to a halt about two hundred yards ahead.

The average speed of traffic in Tomoeda is-at the start of the twenty-first century-slower than it was in Victorian times. During normal working hours, any bicycle will beat any car on just about any journey at all. And Matt wasn't riding just any bike. He still had his falcon XC road racer, hand built for him in the workshop that had been open for business on the same street in shundori for more than fifty years. He'd recently had it upgraded with an integrated brake and gear lever system fitted to the handlebar, and he only had to flick his thumb to feel the bike click up a gear, the lightweight titanium sprockets spinning smoothly beneath him.

He caught up with the car just as it turned the corner and joined the rest of the traffic on the Shonoko Street. He would just have to hope that Suzuki was going to stay in the city, but somehow Matt didn't think it was likely that he would travel too far. The drug dealer hadn't chosen Readington Comprehensive as a target simply because he'd been there. It had to be somewhere in his general neighbourhood-not too close to home but not too far either.

The lights changed and the white car jerked forward, heading west. Matt pedalled slowly, keeping a few cars behind, just in case Suzuki happened to glance in his mirror. They reached the corner known as Dead mans road, and suddenly the road was clear and Matt had to switch gears again and pedal hard to keep up. The car drove on, through Pedreons Green and down toward Kanoria. Matt twisted from one lane to another, cutting in front of a taxi and receiving the blast of a horn as his reward. It was a warm day, and he could feel his Japanese and Science homework dragging down his back. How much further were they going? And what would he do when they got there? Matt was beginning to wonder whether this had been a good idea when the car turned off and he realized they had arrived. Suzuki had pulled into a rough tarmac area, a temporary parking lot next to the River Shimari, not far from Kanoria Bridge. Matt stayed on the bridge, allowing the traffic to roll past, and watched as the dealer got out of his car and began to walk. The area was being redeveloped, another block of prestigious apartments rising up to bruise the Tomoeda skyline. Right now the building was no more than an ugly skeleton of steel girders and prefabricated concrete slabs. It was surrounded by a swarm of men in hard hats. There were bulldozers, cement mixers, and, towering above them all, a huge, canary yellow crane. A sign read: SHIMARI RIVER VIEW HOUSE. And below it: ALL VISITORS REPORT TO THE SITE OFFICE. Matt wondered if Suzuki had some sort of business on the site. He seemed to be heading for the entrance. But then he turned off. Matt watched him, increasingly puzzled. The building site was wedged in between the bridge and a cluster of modern buildings. There was a pub, then what looked like a brand-new conference centre, and finally a police station with a parking lot half filled with official cars. But right next to the building site, sticking out into the river, was a wooden jetty with two cabin cruisers and an old iron barge quietly rusting in the murky water.

Matt hadn't noticed the jetty at first, but Suzuki walked straight onto it, and then climbed onto the barge. He found a door, opened it, and disappeared inside. Was this where he lived? It was already growing dark, and somehow Matt doubted he was about to set off on a pleasure cruise down the River Shimari. He got back on his bike and cycled slowly to the end of the bridge, and then down toward the parking lot. He left the bike and his backpack out of sight and continued on foot, moving more slowly as he approached the jetty. He wasn't afraid of being caught. This was a public place, and even if Suzuki did reappear, there would be nothing he could do. But he was curious just what was the dealer doing on board a barge? It seemed a bizarre place to have stopped. Matt still wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he wanted to have a look inside. Then he would decide. The wooden jetty creaked under his feet as he stepped onto it. The barge was called Black Shadow; the boat was flaking and the Black was made up with rusty ironwork, and the dirty, oil-covered decks. The barge was about thirty yards long and very square with a single cabin in the centre. It was lying low in the water, and Matt guessed that most of the living quarters would be underneath. He knelt down on the jetty and pretended to tie his shoelaces, hoping to look through the narrow, slanting windows. But all the curtains were drawn. What now?

The barge was moored on one side of the jetty. The two cabin cruisers were side by side on the other. Suzuki wanted privacy-but he must also need light, and there would be no need to draw the curtains on the far side, with nothing there but the river. The only trouble was that to look in the other windows, Matt would have to climb onto the barge itself. He considered briefly. It had to be worth the risk. He was near enough to the building site. Nobody was going to try to hurt him in broad daylight. He placed one foot on the deck, and then slowly transferred his weight onto it. He was afraid that moving the barge would give him away. Sure enough, the barge dipped under his weight, but Matt had chosen his moment well. A police, launch was sailing past, heading up the river and back into town. The barge bobbed naturally in its wake, and by the time it settled, Matt was on board, crouching next to the cabin door.

Now he could hear music coming from inside. The heavy beat of a rock band. He didn't want to do it, but he knew there was only one way to look in. He tried to find an area of the deck that wasn't too covered in oil, and then lay flat on his stomach. Clinging on to the handrail, he lowered his head and shoulders over the side of the barge and shifted himself forward so that he was hanging almost upside down over the water. He was right. The curtains on this side of the barge were open. Looking through the dirty glass of the window, he could see two men. Suzuki was sitting on a bunk, smoking a cigarette. There was a second man, blond-haired and ugly, with twisted lips and three days' stubble, wearing a torn sweatshirt and jeans, making a cup of coffee at a small stove. The music was coming from a boom box perched on a shelf. Matt looked around the cabin. Besides two bunks and the miniature kitchen, the barge offered no living accommodations at all. Instead, it had been converted for another purpose. Suzuki and his friend had turned it into a floating laboratory. There were two metal work surfaces, a sink, and a pair of electric scales. Everywhere there were test tubes and Bunsen burners, flasks, glass pipes, and measuring spoons. The whole place was filthy obviously neither of the two men cared about hygiene-but Matt knew that he was looking into the heart of their operation. This was where they prepared the drugs they sold: cut them down, weighed them, and packaged them for delivery to local schools. It was an insane idea to put a drug factory on a boat, almost in the middle of Tomoeda, and only a stone's throw away from a police station. But at the same time, it was a clever one. Who would have looked for it here?

The blond-haired man suddenly turned around, and Matt hooked his body up and slithered backward onto the deck. For a moment he was dizzy. Hanging upside down had made the blood drain into his head. He took a couple of breaths, trying to collect his thoughts. It would be easy enough to walk over to the police station and tell the officer in charge what he had seen. The police could take over from there. But something inside Matt rejected the idea. Maybe he would have done that a few months before: let someone else take care of it. But he hadn't cycled all this way just to call the police. He thought back to his first sighting of the white car outside the school gates. He remembered his friend Zachary shuffling over to it and felt once again a brief blaze of anger. This was something he wanted to do himself. The words of sakura helped encouraged him to do so.

"Someone should do something about him." But what could he do. If the barge had been equipped with a plug, Matt would have pulled it out and sunk the entire thing. But of course it wasn't as easy as that, not like the cartoons. The barge was tied to the jetty by two thick ropes. He could untie them, but that wouldn't help either. The barge would drift away, but this was Kanoria. There were no whirlpools or waterfalls. Suzuki could simply turn on the engine and cruise back again. Matt looked around him. On the building site, the day's work was coming to an end. Some of the men were already leaving, and as he watched, he saw a trapdoor open about a hundred and fifty yards above him and a stocky man begin the long climb down from the top of the crane. Matt closed his eyes. A whole series of images suddenly flashed into his mind, like different sections of a jigsaw puzzle. The barge. The building site. The police station. The crane with its big hook, dangling underneath the jib. And the downtown Tomoeda arcade. He'd gone there once with his housekeeper, Julie landers, and had watched as she won a teddy bear, hooking it out of a glass case and carrying it over to a chute. Could it be done?

Matt looked again, working out the angles. Yes. It probably could. He stood up and crept back across the deck to the door that Suzuki had entered. A length of wire was lying to one side, and he picked it up, and then wound it several times around the handle of the door. He looped the wire over a hook in the wall and pulled it tight. The door was effectively locked. There was a second door at the back of the boat. Matt secured this one with his own bicycle padlock. As far as he could see, the windows were too narrow to crawl through. There was no other way in or out. He crept off the barge and back onto the jetty. Then he untied it, leaving the thick rope loosely curled up beside the metal pegs-the stanchions-that had secured it. The river was still. It would be a while before the barge drifted away.

He straightened up. Satisfied with his work so far, he began to run. As he ran he said to himself in anger.

"Those dam drug dealers got one of my best friends hooked," he then looked up at the crane and smiled "and I'm going to return the favour."


	3. Getting Hooked!

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 3: Getting Hooked!**

The entrance to the building site was crowded with construction workers preparing to go home. Matt was reminded of Readington an hour earlier. Nothing really changed when you got older-except that maybe you weren't given homework. The men and women drifting out of the site were tired, in a hurry to be away. That was probably why none of them tried to stop Matt as he slipped in among them, walking purposefully as if he knew where he was going, as if he had every right to be there. But the shift wasn't completely finished yet. Other workers were still carrying tools, stowing away machinery, packing up for the night. They all wore protective headgear, and seeing a pile of plastic helmets, Matt snatched one up and put it on. The great sweep of the block of apartments that was being built loomed up ahead of him. To pass through it, he was forced into a narrow corridor between two scaffolding towers. Suddenly a heavy-set man in white overalls stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"My dad . . ." Matt gestured vaguely in the direction of another worker and kept walking. The trick worked. The man didn't challenge him again. He headed toward the crane. It stood in the open, the high priest of construction. Matt hadn't realized how very tall it was until he had reached it. The supporting tower was bolted into a massive block of concrete. It was very narrow once he squeezed through the iron girders, he could reach out and touch all four sides. A ladder ran straight up the centre. Without stopping to think, Matt began to climb. It's only a ladder, he told himself. You've climbed ladders before. You've got nothing to worry about.

But this was a ladder with three hundred rungs. If Matt let go or slipped, there would be nothing to stop him from falling to his death. There were rest platforms at intervals, but Matt didn't dare stop to catch his breath. Somebody might look up and see him. And there was always a chance that the barge, loose from its moorings, might begin to drift. Matt knew he had to hurry. After two hundred and fifty rungs, the tower narrowed. Matt could see the crane's control cabin directly above him. He looked back down. The men on the building site were suddenly very small and far away. He climbed the last ladder. There was a trapdoor over his head, leading into the cabin. But the trapdoor was locked. Fortunately, Matt was ready for this. When JIN 7 had sent him on his first mission, they had given him a number of gadgets-he couldn't exactly call them weapons-to help him out of a tight spot. One of these was a tube marked OXYCLEAN, FOR HEALTHIER SKIN. But the cream inside the tube did much more than clean up pimples. Although Matt had used most of it, he had managed to hold on to the last remnants and often carried the tube with him as a sort of souvenir. He had it in his pocket now. Holding on to the ladder with one hand he took the tube out with the other. There was very little of the cream left, but Matt knew that a little was all he needed. He opened the tube, squeezed some of the cream onto the lock, and waited. There was a moment's pause, then a hiss and a wisp of smoke. The cream was eating into the metal. The lock sprang open. As matt watched the metal bolt snap in two he was thanking Samantha Taylor for giving matt this cream. Matt pushed back the trapdoor and climbed the last few rungs. He was in. He had to close the trapdoor again to create enough floor space to stand on. He found himself in a square, metal box, about the same size as a sit-in arcade game. There was a pilot's chair with two joysticks-one on each arm-and instead of a screen, a floor -to -ceiling window with a spectacular view of the building site, the river, and the whole of West Tomoeda. A small computer monitor had been built into one corner, and at knee level, there was a radio transmitter. The joysticks beside the arms were surprisingly uncomplicated. Each had just six buttons-two green, two black, and two red. There were even helpful diagrams to show what they did. The right hand lifted the hook up and down. The left hand moved it along the jib, closer or farther from the cabin. The left hand also controlled the whole top of the crane, rotating it three hundred and sixty degrees. It couldn't have been much simpler. Even the START button was clearly labelled. A big switch for a big toy. He turned the switch and felt power surge into the control cabin. The computer lit up with a graphic of a barking dog as the warm-up program spun into life. Matt eased himself into the operator's chair.

There were still twenty or thirty men on the site. Looking down between his knees, he saw them moving silently far below. Nobody had noticed that anything was wrong. But still he knew he had to move fast. He pressed the green button on the right-hand control green for go-then touched his fingers against the joystick and pushed. Nothing happened! Matt frowned. Maybe it was going to be more complicated than he'd thought. What had he missed? He rested his hands on the joysticks, looking left and right for another control. His right hand moved slightly and suddenly the hook soared up from the ground. It was working!

Unknown to Matt, heat sensors concealed inside the handles of the joysticks had read his body temperature and activated the crane. All modern cranes have the same security system built into them, in case the operator has a heart attack and dies. There can be no accidents. Body heat is needed to make the crane work. And luckily for him, this crane was a Liebherr 154 EC-H, one of the most modern in the world. The Liebherr is incredibly easy to use, and also remarkably accurate. Even sitting so high above the ground, the operator can pick up a tea bag and drop it into a small china pot. Now Matt pushed sideways with his left hand and gasped as the crane swung around. In front of him he could see the jib stretching out, winging high over the rooftops of Tomoeda. Matt settled himself in the chair and pulled back, wondering what would happen next.

Inside the boat, Suzuki was opening a bottle of gin. He'd had a good day, selling more than forty thousand yens' worth of merchandise to the kids at his old school. And the best thing was, they'd all be back for more. Soon, he'd sell them the stuff only if they promised to introduce it to their friends. Then the friends would become customers too. It was the easiest market in the world. He'd gotten them hooked. They were his to do with as he liked.

**The greasy-haired man working with him was named ****Michael Hitchcock**. **The two had met in prison and decided to go into business together when they got out. The boat had been Hitchcock's idea. There was no real kitchen and no toilet, and it was freezing in winter . . . but it worked. It even amused them to be so close to a police station. Sometimes they enjoyed watching the police cars or boats going past. Of course, the pigs would never think of looking for criminal's right on their own doorstep. Suddenly Hitchcock swore.** "**What the...?"**

"What is it?" Suzuki looked up.

"The cup . . ." Suzuki watched as a cup of coffee, which had been sitting on a shelf, began to move. It slid sideways, then fell off with a clatter, spilling cold coffee on the grey rag that they called a carpet. Suzuki was confused. The cup seemed to have moved on its own. Nothing had touched it. He giggled.

"How did you do that?" he asked.

"I didn't."

"Then..." The greasy-haired man was the first to realize what was happening-but even he couldn't guess the truth.

We're sinking!" he shouted. He scrambled for the door. Now Suzuki felt it for himself. The floor was tilting. Test tubes and beakers slid into each other, and then crashed to the floor, glass shattered everywhere. He swore and followed Hitchcock-uphill now. With every second that passed, the gradient grew steeper. But the strange thing was that the barge didn't t seem to be sinking at all On the contrary; the front of it seemed to be rising out of the water. "What's going on?" Suzuki yelled.

"The door's jammed!" Hitchcock had managed to open it an inch, but the wire on the other side was holding it firm. "Check the other door!" he yelled. But the second door was now high above them. More bottles rolled off the table and smashed. In the kitchen, dirty plates and mugs slid into each other, pieces flying. With something between a sob and a snarl, Suzuki tried to climb up the mountainside that the inside of the boat had become. But it was already too steep. The door was almost over his head. He lost his balance and fell backward, shouting as, one second later, the other man was thrown on top of him. The two of them rolled into the corner, tangled up in each other. Plates, cups, knives, forks, and dozens of pieces of scientific equipment crashed into them. The walls of the barge were grinding with the pressure. A window shattered. A table turned itself into a battering ram and buried itself at them. Suzuki felt a bone snap in his arm and screamed out loud. The barge was completely vertical, standing in the water at ninety degrees. For a moment it rested where it was. Then it began to rise...

Matt stared at the barge in amazement. The crane was lifting it at half speed-some sort of override had come into action, slowing the operation down-but it wasn't even straining. Matt could feel the power under his palms. Sitting in the cabin with both hands on the joysticks, his feet apart and the jib of the crane jutting out ahead of him, he felt as if he and the crane had become one. He had only to move an inch and the five-ton boat would be brought to him. He could see it, dangling on the hook, spinning slowly. Water was streaming off the bow. It was already clear of the water, rising up about five yards per second. He wondered what it must be like inside. And then the radio beside his knee hissed into life.

"Crane operator! This is base. What the hell do you think you're doing? Over!" A pause, a burst of static. Then the metallic voice was back. "Who is in the crane? Who's up there? Will you identify yourself . . ." There was a microphone snaking toward Matt's chin and he was tempted to say something. But he decided against it. Hearing a teenager's voice would only panic them more. He looked down between his knees. About a dozen construction workers were closing in on the base of the crane. Others were pointing at the boat, jabbering amongst themselves. No sounds reached the cabin. It was as if Matt were cut off from the real world. He felt very secure. He had no doubt that more workers had already started climbing the ladder and that it would all be over soon, but for the moment he was untouchable. He concentrated on what he was doing. Getting the barge out of the water had been only half his plan. He still had to finish it. "Crane operator! Lower the hook! We believe there are people inside the boat and you are endangering their lives. Repeat. Lower the hook!"

The barge was almost two hundred feet above the water, swinging on the end of the hook. Matt moved his left hand, turning the crane around so that the boat was dragged in an arc along the river and then over dry land. There was a sudden buzz. The jib came to a halt. Matt pushed the joystick. Nothing happened. He glanced at the computer. The screen had gone blank. Someone at ground level had come to his senses and done the only sensible thing. He had switched off the power. The crane was dead. Matt sat where he was, watching the barge swaying in the breeze. He hadn't quite succeeded in what he had set out to do. He had planned to lower the boat-along with its contents-safely into the parking lot by the police station. It would have made a nice surprise for the authorities, he had thought. Instead the boat was now hanging over the conference centre that he had seen from Kanoria Bridge.

But at the end of the day, he supposed it didn't make much difference. The result would be the same. He stretched his arms and relaxed, waiting for the trapdoor to burst open. This wasn't going to be easy to explain. And then he heard the tearing sound. The metal stanchion that protruded from the end of the deck had never been designed to carry the entire weight of the barge. It was a miracle that it had lasted as long as it had. As Matt watched, open mouthed, the stanchion tore itself free. For a few seconds it clung by one edge to the deck. Then the last metal rivet came loose.

The five-ton barge had been sixty yards above the ground.

Now it began to fall.

In the Kanoria Riverside Conference Centre, the chief of the Tomoeda Metropolitan Police was addressing a large crowd of journalists, TV cameramen, civil servants, and government officials. He was a tall, thin man who took himself very seriously. His dark blue uniform was immaculate, with every piece of silver from the studs on his epaulets to his five medals-polished until it gleamed. This was his big day. He was sharing the platform with no less a personage than the home secretary himself. The assistant chief of police was there as well as seven lower-ranking officers. A slogan was being projected onto the wall behind him.

**WINNING** **THE WAR AGAINST THE DRUG DEALERS**

Silver letters on a blue background. The chief of police had chosen the colours himself, knowing that they matched his uniform. He liked the slogan. He knew it would be in all the major newspapers the next day-along with, just as important, a photograph of himself.

"We have overlooked nothing!" he was saying, his voice echoing around the modern room. He could see the journalists scribbling down his every word. The television cameras were all focused on him. "Thanks to my personal involvement and efforts, we have never been more successful." He smiled at the home secretary, who smiled toothily back. "But we are not resting on our laurels. Oh, no! Any day now we hope to announce another breakthrough." and at that moment the chief of the Tomoeda Metropolitan Police was about to understand the meaning of 'be careful what you wish for'. For that was when the barge hit the glass roof of the conference centre and crashed on through. There was an explosion. The chief of police just had time to dive for cover as fast as he can; the dripping wet object plunged down toward him. The home secretary was thrown backward, his glasses flying off his face. His security men froze, helpless. The boat crashed into the space in front of them, between the stage and the audience. The side of the cabin had been torn off, and there was the laboratory, exposed, with the two dealers sprawled together in one corner, staring dazedly at the hundreds of policemen and officials who now surrounded them. A cloud of white powder mushroomed up and then fell onto the dark blue uniform of the police chief, covering him from head to toe. The fire alarms had all gone off. The lights blew out. Then the screaming began.

Meanwhile, the first of the construction workers had made it to the crane cabin and was gazing, astonished, at the fifteen-year-old boy he had found there.

"Do you...?" he stammered. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

Matt glanced at the empty hook and at the gaping hole in the roof of the conference centre, at the rising smoke and dust. He shrugged apologetically.

"I was just working on the crime figures," he said. "And I think there's been a drop, the police seem to be doing a smashing job."


	4. Observe And Report

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 4: Observe And Report**

At least they didn't have far to take him.

Two men brought Matt down from the crane, one above him on the ladder and one below. The police were waiting at the bottom. Watched by the incredulous construction workers, he was marched away from the building site and into the police station just a few doors away. As he passed the conference centre, he saw the crowds pouring out. Ambulances had already arrived. The home secretary was being whisked away in a black limousine. For the first time Matt was seriously worried, wondering if anyone had been killed. He hadn't meant it to end like this. Once they got to the police station, everything happened in a whirl of slamming doors, blank official faces, whitewashed walls, forms, and phone calls. Matt was asked his name, his age, his address. He saw a police sergeant tapping the details into a computer, but what happened next took him by surprise. The sergeant pressed ENTER and visibly froze. He turned and looked at Matt, then hastily left his seat, smiling nervously. When Matt had entered the police station, he had been the centre of attention, but suddenly everyone was avoiding his eye. A more senior officer appeared. Words were exchanged. Matt was led down a corridor and put into a cell. Half an hour later, a female police officer appeared with a tray of food.

"Supper," she said.

"What's happening?" Matt asked. The woman smiled nervously, but said nothing. "I left my bike by the bridge," Matt said.

"It's all right. We've got it." She couldn't leave the room fast enough. Matt ate the food: sausages, toast, a slice of cake and a pot of instant ramen already made. There was a bunk in the room and, behind a screen, a sink and a toilet. He wondered whether anyone was going to come in and talk to him, but nobody did. This must have been one of those VIP cells Matt read about, the ones where celebrities are usually held in, but why was he in one. Eventually he fell asleep.

The next thing he knew, it was seven o'clock in the morning. The door was open and a man he knew all too well was standing in the cell, looking down at him.

"Good morning, Matt," he said.

"Mr. Tomitake." Jirou Tomitake looked like a junior Finance manager, and when Matt had first met him, he had indeed been pretending that he worked as a junior finance manager for a TV Network. The cheap suit and striped tie could both have come from Brooks Brothers "Boring Businessman" section. In fact, Tomitake worked for JIN 7. Matt wondered if the clothes were a cover or a personal choice.

"You can come with me now," Tomitake said. "We're leaving."

"Are you taking me home?" Matt asked. He wondered if anyone had been told where he was.

"No. Not yet." Matt followed Tomitake out of the building. This time there were no police officers in sight. A car with a driver stood waiting outside. Tomitake got into the back with Matt.

"Where are we going?" Matt asked.

"You'll see." Tomitake opened a copy of the Tomoeda News and began to read. He didn't speak again. They drove east through the City and toward Orotaki Street. Matt knew at once where he was being taken, and sure enough, the car turned into the entrance of a seventeen-story building near the station and disappeared down a ramp into an underground parking lot. Matt had been here before. The building pretended to be the headquarters of the Fuji TV Network. In fact, this was where the Special Operations division of JIN 7 was based. The car stopped. Tomitake folded away his paper and got out, ushering Matt ahead of him. There was an elevator in the basement, and the two of them took it to the sixteenth floor. "This way." Tomitake gestured at a door marked 1615. The siege of Osaka castle, Matt thought. It was an absurd thing to flash into his mind, a fragment of the history lesson still replaying in his mind. He should have been in school today. The Siege of Osaka was a series of battles undertaken by the Tokugawa shogunate against the Toyotomi clan, and ending in that clan's destruction. Divided into two stages (Winter Campaign and Summer Campaign), and lasting from 1614 to 1615, the siege put an end to the last major armed opposition to the shogunate's establishment. The end of the conflict is sometimes called the Genna Armistice because the era name was changed from Keichō to Genna immediately following the siege.1615. Oh well, it looked as if he wasn't going to be in school today or for a while, because he knew every time he came here always ended the same way. Matt opened the door and went in. Tomitake didn't follow. When Matt looked around, the man was already walking away.

"Shut the door, Matt, and come in." Once again, Matt found himself standing opposite the prim, unsmiling man who ran JIN 7. Grey suit, grey face, grey life ... Korindo Ooishi seemed to belong to an entirely colourless world. He was sitting behind a wooden desk in a large square office that could have belonged to any business anywhere in the world. There was nothing personal in the room, not even a picture on the wall or a photograph on the desk. Even the pigeons pecking on the windowsill outside were grey. He was not alone. Mrs. Jensen, the deputy head of Special Operations, was with him, sitting on a leather chair, wearing a mud-brown jacket and dress, and as always, sucking a Strawberry and cream sweet. She looked up at Matt with black, beadlike eyes. She seemed to be more pleased to see him than her boss was. She was the one who had spoken. Ooishi had barely registered the fact that Matt had come into the room. Then Ooishi looked up.

"I hadn't expected to see you again so soon," he said.

"That's just what I was going to say," Matt replied. There was a single empty chair in the office. He sat down. Ooishi slid a sheet of paper across his desk and examined it briefly.

"What on earth were you thinking?" he demanded. "This business with the crane. You've done an enormous amount of damage. You practically destroyed a Four hundred million yen conference centre. It's a miracle nobody was killed."

"The two men who were in the boat will be in the hospital for months," Mrs. Jensen added.

"You could have killed the home secretary!" Ooishi continued. "That would have been the last straw. What were you doing?"

"They were drug dealers," Matt said.

"So we've discovered. But the normal procedure would have been to call 110."

"I couldn't find a phone." Matt sighed. "They turned off the crane," he explained. "I was going to put the boat next to the police department. On the doorstep." Ooishi blinked once and waved a hand as if dismissing everything that had happened.

"It's just as well that your special status came up on the police computer," he said. "They called us-and we've handled the rest."

"I didn't know I had special status," Matt said.

"Oh, yes, Matt. You're nothing if not special." Ooishi gazed at him for a moment. "That's why you're here. Our help doesn't come cheap."

"So you're not going to send me home?"

"No. The fact is, Matt, that we were thinking of contacting you anyway. We need you again."

"You're probably the only person who can do what we have in mind," Mrs. Jensen added.

"Wait a minute!" Matt shook his head. "I've still got two weeks of school before Easter. I'm far enough behind as it is. Suppose I'm not interested?"Mrs. Jensen sighed.

"We could, of course, return you to the police," she said. "As I understand it, they were very eager to interview you."

"And how is Miss Landers?" Ooishi asked.

Julie Landers-Matt still didn't know if her name was Julie or was short for Juliet -was the House keeper who had been looking after Matt since his Father died. She was a bright, red-haired English girl who had come to Tomoeda to study law but had never left. Ooishi wasn't interested in her health-Matt knew that. The last time they'd met, he'd made his position clear. So long as Matt did as he was told, he could keep living in his father's house with Julie. Step out of line and she'd be deported to England. Matt liked Julie. For years now, she'd almost been like a big sister to him. He also needed her. He knew that he was too young to live on his own and that once she was out of the picture, the authorities would have custody of him. That would mean some grim institution in the south of Japan away from everyone. Ooishi had made that clear too.

"She's fine," Matt said. There was a quiet anger in his voice. Mrs. Jensen took over.

"Come on, Matt," she said. "You can pretend to be anyone you want to be in the world; why pretend you're an ordinary schoolboy?" She was trying to sound more friendly, more like a mother. But even snakes have mothers' Matt thought. "You've already proven yourself once," she went on. "We're just giving you a chance to do it again."

"It'll probably come to nothing," Ooishi continued. "It's just something that needs looking into. What we call an Observe and report."

"Why can't Tomitake do it?"

"We need a boy." Matt fell silent. He looked from Ooishi to Mrs. Jensen and back again. He knew that neither of them would hesitate for a second before pulling him out of Readington, taking him away from his friends, and sending him ... wherever. Anyway, wasn't this what he had been asking for only the day before? Another adventure. Another chance to save the world. Maybe sakura was right, maybe he was bored.

"All right," he said. "What is it this time?"

Ooishi nodded at Mrs. Jensen, who unwrapped another Strawberry and cream and began.

"I wonder if you know anything about a man called Paul A. Jones?" she asked.

Matt thought for a moment. "He was that businessman who had an accident in New York." He'd seen the news on TV "Didn't he fall down an elevator shaft or something?"

"Jones Electronics is one of the largest companies in America," Mrs. Jensen said. "In fact, it's one of the largest in the world. Computers, videos, DVD players ... everything from cell phones to washing machines. Jones was very rich, very influential-"

"And very short sighted," Matt cut in.

"It certainly seems to have been a very strange and even careless accident," Mrs. Jensen agreed. "The elevator somehow malfunctioned. Jones didn't look where he was going. He fell into the shaft and died. That's the general opinion. However, we're not so sure."

"Why not?"

"First of all, there are a number of details that don't add up. On the day Jones died, a maintenance engineer by the name of Sam Green called at the office building on Fifth Avenue where Jones worked. We know it was Green-or someone who looked very much like him-because we've seen him. They have closed-circuit security cameras, and he was filmed going in. He said he'd come to look at a defective cable. But according to the company that employed him, there was no defective cable and he certainly wasn't acting under orders from them."

"Why don't you talk to him?"

"We d like to But Green has vanished without a trace. We think he may have been killed. We think someone may have taken his place and somehow set up the accident that killed Jones."

Matt shrugged.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Mr. Jones. But what's it got to do with me?"

"I'm coming to that." Jensen paused. "The strangest thing of all is that the day before he died,Jones telephoned this office. A personal call. He asked to speak to Korindo Ooishi."

"I met Jones at Cambridge University, when I studied overseas, much like your Julie." Ooishi said. "But that was a long time ago. We became friends." That surprised Matt. He didn't think of Ooishi as the sort of man who had friends.

"What did he say?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, I wasn't here to take the call," Ooishi replied. "I arranged to speak with him the following day. By that time, it was too late."

"Do you have any idea what he wanted?"

"I spoke to his assistant," Jensen said. "She wasn't able to tell me very much, but she understood that Jones wanted to talk to us about his son, He had a Fifteen-year old son, Arthur Jones." A fifteen - year- old son. Matt was beginning to see the way things were going.

"Arthur was his only son," Ooishi explained. "I'm afraid the two of them had a very difficult relationship. Jones divorced a few years ago, and although the boy chose to live with his father, they didn't really get along. There were the usual teenage problems, but of course, when you grow up surrounded by millions of dollars, these problems sometimes get amplified. Arthur was doing badly at school. He was playing hooky and spending time with some very undesirable friends. There was an incident with the New York police-nothing serious, and Jones managed to hush it up-but still, it upset him. I spoke to Jones from time to time. He was worried about Arthur and felt the boy was out of control. But there didn't seem to be very much he could do."

"So is that what you want me for?" Matt interrupted. "You want me to meet this boy and talk to him about his father's death?"

"No." Ooishi shook his head and handed a file to Jensen. She opened it. Matt caught a glimpse of a photograph: a dark skinned man in military uniform.

"Remember what we told you about Jones?" she said, "Because now I want to tell you about another man." She slid the photograph around so that Matt could see it. "This is General Major Anton Vanko. Ex-KGB. Until last December he was the head of the Foreign Intelligence Service and probably the second or third most powerful man in Russia after the president. But then something happened to him too. It was a boating accident on the Black Sea. His cruiser exploded ... nobody knows why."

"Was he a friend of Jones's?" Matt asked.

"They probably never met. But we have a department here that constantly monitors world news, and their computers have thrown up a very strange coincidence. Vanko also had a fifteen-year-old son. . . Dimitry. And one thing is certain. The young Vanko certainly knew the young Jones because they went to the same school."

"Arthur and Dimitry . . ." Matt was puzzled. "What was a Russian boy doing at a school in New York?"

"He wasn't in New York." Ooishi took over. "As I told you, Jones was having trouble with his boy. Trouble at school, trouble at home. So last year he decided to take action. He sent Arthur to Europe, to a place in France a sort of finishing school. Do you know what a finishing school is?"

"I thought it was the sort of place where rich people used to send their daughters," Matt said. "To learn table manners and stuff."

"That's the general idea. But this school is for boys only, and not just ordinary boys. The fees are two million yen a term. This is the brochure here. You can have a look." He passed a heavy square booklet to Matt. Written on the cover, Black letters on gold were two words:

Ombre Académie

"It's right on the French-Swiss border," he explained. "South of Geneva. Just above Grenoble, in the French Alps. It's pronounced ombre Académie." He spoke the words with a French accent. "It literally means, Shadow Academy. It's a remarkable place. Built as a private home by some lunatic in the nineteenth century. As a matter of fact, that's what it became after he died-a lunatic asylum. It was taken over by the Germans in the Second World War. They used it as a recreation centre for their senior staff. After that it fell into disrepair until it was bought by the current owner, a man called Sorrow. Dr. Howard Sorrow. He's the principal of the school." Matt opened the brochure and found himself looking at a colour photograph of Ombre Académie. Ooishi was right. The school was like nothing he had ever seen, something between a German castle and a French chateau, straight out of a Grimm's' fairy tale. But what made Matt draw his breath, more than the building itself, was the setting. The school was perched on top of a mountain, with nothing but mountains all around it. A great pile of brick and stone surrounded by a snow-covered landscape. It seemed to have no business being there, as if it had been snatched out of an ancient city and accidentally dropped there. No roads led to or from the school. The snow continued all the way to the front gate. But looking again, Matt saw a modern helicopter pad projecting over the battlements. He guessed that it was the only way to get there ... and to leave.

He turned the page.

Welcome to Ombre Académie

The introduction began. It had been printed with the sort of lettering Matt would expect to find in the menu of an expensive restaurant.

A unique school that is much more than a school, created for boys who need more than the ordinary education system can provide. In our time, we have been called a school for "problem children," but we do not believe the term applies. There are problems and there are children. It is our aim to separate the two. Our motto is:

Send us your problem boys and we will return them a "Shadow of their former self's."

"There's no need to read all that stuff," Ooishi said. "All you need to know is that the academy takes in boys who have been expelled from all their other schools. There are never very many of them there just six or seven at a time. And it's unique in other ways too. For a start, it takes only the sons of the super-rich."

"At Two million yen per term, I'm not surprised," Matt said.

"You'd be surprised just how many parents have applied to send their sons there," Ooishi went on. "But I suppose you've only got to look at the newspapers to see how easy it is to go off the rails when you're born with a silver spoon in your mouth. It doesn't matter if they're politicians or pop stars, fame and fortune for the parents often bring problems for the children ... and the more successful they are, the more pressure there seems to be. The academy went into business to straighten the young people out, and by all accounts it's been a great success."

"It was established twenty years ago," Mrs. Jensen said. "In that time it's had a client list you'd find hard to believe. Of course, they've kept the names confidential. But I can tell you that parents who have sent their children there include an American vice president, a Nobel Prize-winning scientist, and a member of our own royal family."

"As well as Jones and this man, Vanko," Matt said.

"Yes." Matt shrugged.

"So it's a coincidence. Just like you said. Two rich parents with two rich kids at the same school. They're both killed in accidents. Why are you so interested?"

"Because I don't like coincidence," Ooishi replied. "In fact, I don't believe in coincidence. Where some people see coincidence, I see conspiracy. That's my job." _And you're welcome to it_, Matt thought. What he said was,

"Do you really think the school and this man-Sorrow-might have had something to do with the two deaths? Why? Had the parents forgotten to pay the fees?" Ooishi didn't smile.

"Jones telephones me because he's worried about his son. The next day the man's dead. We've also learned from Russian intelligence sources that a week before he died, Vanko had a violent argument with his son. Apparently Vanko was worried about something. Now do you see the link?" Matt thought for a moment.

"So you want me to go and look into this school," he said. "How are you going to manage that? I don't have parents, and they were never rich anyway."

"We've already arranged for that," Mrs. Jensen said, and Matt realized that she must have made her plans before the business with the crane ever happened. Even if he hadn't drawn attention to himself, they would have come for him anyway. "We're going to supply you with a wealthy father. His name is George Hiroku."

"Hiroku ... as in Hiroku Supermalls?" Matt had seen the name often enough in the newspapers.

"Supermalls. Department stores. Art galleries. Soccer teams." Mrs. Jensen paused. "Hiroku is certainly a member of the same club as Jones. The billionaires' club. He's also heavily involved in government circles, as personal adviser to the prime minister and has a seat on the United Nations. Very little happens in this country without George being involved in some way."

"We've created a false identity for you," Ooishi said. "From this moment on, I want you to start thinking of yourself as Matt Hiroku, the fifteen-year-old son of George Hiroku. You've been expelled from six private schools. You have a criminal record ... shoplifting, vandalism, and possession of drugs. George and his wife, Christine, don't know what to do with you. So they've enrolled you in the academy. And you've been accepted."

"Isn't school vacation about to start?"

"They don't have official vacations. The school is open all year round."

"And George has agreed to all this?" Matt asked. Ooishi sniffed.

"As a matter of fact, he wasn't very happy about it-about using someone as young as you. But I spoke to him at some length and yes, he agreed to help."

"So when am I going to the academy?"

"Eight days from now," Mrs. Jensen said. "But first you have to immerse yourself in your new life. When you leave here, we've arranged a few things for you, after that you will be taken to George's home. He has a house just outside the small village Hinamizawa. He lives there with his wife, and he has a daughter. She's a year older than you. You'll spend the rest of the week with the family, which should give you time to learn everything you need to know. It's vital that you have a strong cover. After that, you'll leave for Grenoble."

"And what do I do when I get there?"

"We'll give you a full briefing nearer the time. Essentially, your job is to find out everything you can. It may be that this school is perfectly ordinary and that there was in fact no connection between the deaths. If so, we'll pull you out. But we want to be sure."

"How will I get in touch with you?"

"We'll arrange all that." Mrs. Jensen ran an eye over Matt, and then turned to Ooishi. "We'll have to do something about his appearance," she said. "He doesn't exactly look the part."

"See to it." Ooishi said. Matt sighed. It was strange, really. He was simply going from one school to another, from a Tomoeda comprehensive to a finishing school in France. It wasn't quite the adventure he'd been hoping for. He stood up and followed Mrs. Jensen out of the room. Before he left, he turned to Ooishi and asked.

"Have you told Julie where I am?" he asked.

"Of course. She doesn't seem to like our idea of ... employing you. Actually, I must remember to get her to sign the Official Secrets Act. I wouldn't want her talking to the wrong people." Matt nodded and left the room with Mrs. Jensen. As he left, Ooishi was already sifting through his documents as if he'd forgotten that Matt had been there or even existed.


	5. In the shadow of the Night

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 5: In the shadow of the night **

Matt and Mrs. Jensen were in the elevator going down to the reception room. They both stood in awkward silence. Matt glanced briefly in her direction and then back in front of him. He had so many things to ask, but didn't how to say them. As if reading his mind Mrs. Jensen said.

"Don't worry matt, the person you're going to see is sweet and experienced, she won't harm you... or do anything drastic." Matt's eyes softened and the silence was once again broken by the ping of the lift stopping on the ground floor. As matt walked out his eyes were feared with terror as he turned corner. A face scowling at him, the fiery red hair and the angry eyes staring at him, matt suddenly wanted to retreat back into the elevator but it was too late. The doors closed and he was stuck there, he smiled nervously at the angry face, his house keeper and legal guardian...Julie Landers.

"Hi Julie how are-"

"What were you thinking!" she yelled at him. Her voice was louder than usual; it must have been the white marble floor and the open reception area that amplified her voice. As Mrs Jensen went to make a call, Julie approached him and, held him in a tight embrace. "Don't ever scare me like that again!" she said while trying to hide her tears. Matt felt ashamed. What he did with the whole crane situation, would be known as an extreme case of rebellion, but how was that possible? When he had someone who was so caring. Matt held her tightly; he didn't mean to cause trouble. As Mrs. Jensen came back from her brief phone call Julie looked at her and released matt from the embrace. "Thank you for what you did." Julie said with thankful eyes, but her words almost sounded forced. "I'll be taking matt home now."

"I'm afraid he won't be going home for a while." Mrs Jensen replied. Julie stopped dead in her tracks; she feared that this might happen. When JIN 7 did anything, it was only for their own benefit. She turned and said like she had expected this to happen.

"I knew it; the second they told me matt was already release. I knew where he would be and why." Her voice was rasping now, but as she breathed steadily she calmed down and asked. "So where's he going this time? China? Italy? North Pole?"

"He's going to school."

"So why can't he come home?"

"It's a boarding school in France, but only for the rich." Julie didn't know what to say, on one hand she could just drag matt home, but the look in matt's eyes said otherwise. He had already accepted and there was no changing his mind. Like father like son. "Okay, just promise you'll comeback, in one piece." He nodded. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and walked with him to the limo that was waiting for him outside, matt wanted to ask Mrs Jensen if Julie could come with him to at least drop her off on the way to this person with experience in disguises, but Julie was already waving down a taxi. As both doors slammed shut they both travelled down the road until they turned off, taxi going left and the limo going right. Inside the limo the leather seats were very comfortable, he couldn't even feel the V8 engine rumbling and the mini fridge was just by his feet. It was silent on the journey Matt was worried about this person he was seeing, all he knew was that this person was experienced in disguises and undercover work, also this person was a she. So it was a woman, but she could have been anything. She might've gotten her experience from dealing with fashion models or on a set for a horror film. The limo turned left and suddenly matt saw it, an amazing place for the amazingly rich. Wrought iron gates at least twenty feet tall, that opened electronically as soon as the limo pulled up. As they swung open slowly matt took in the sights. The long driveway had a row of edges on each side and in between each hedge was a white statue of a woman or some Greek warrior. The limo stopped in front of the white marble steps leading to the mansion. Before matt unbuckled his seat belt, the door opened.

As he looked out he saw standing beside it was a woman in a dark suit, beige shirt and a black tie. Her hair was brown and long, hanging over her left shoulder. The sunglasses she was wearing were black, obliterating any chance of seeing her eye colour. As he unbuckled he climbed out, feeling increasingly nervous about all this. The woman seemed intimidating but she was friendly when she spoke.

"Right this way, Mr. Ishida." She gestured up the stairs past two more women in the same outfit. Mrs Jensen was being lead in by the woman with grey hair, that made a total of four bodyguards so far, how many more were inside. As matt trailed closely behind her, the other three body guards marched to another part of the mansion, he guessed he and Mrs. Jensen weren't a serious threat for all four to be around them, but one still remained. They approached the large wooden doors, they were white same as the steps. As they walked through the door they entered a large foyer. The floors were coved in a blue carpet and a rug made of wool, woven into patterns was lying in front of him. He took off his brown shoes and left them in the shoe rack on the side and slid on a pair of Uwabaki slippers.

As he felt the soft carpet underneath him who saw Mrs. Jensen sank a few inches as she removed her high heels. The bodyguard had disappeared and a maid appeared dressed in a white apron and blue overalls underneath. She had black hair and brown eyes, slim build and red lips. "Excuse me." He asked "Where did the bodyguard go?"

"She's looking for Ms. Taylor, she'll be here shortly." She replied with a smile, matt was stunned. The name Taylor reminded him of school and his gadget designer. Just then his eyes sparked and his jaw almost dropped as Madison Taylor walked down the stairs. She looked amazing, in her white dress and white shoes. She wore a pink bow in her dark blue hair; on her it looked amazing on anyone else he wasn't so sure.

"Matt!" she exclaimed happily as she came down the stairs. Her feet were quick coming down the stairs, matt sure she was going to fall. As she reached the bottom of the stairs she quickly grabbed his hands gently and said excitedly. "I'm so glad your okay, after the news reports on a crane incident I couldn't help but think of you." Matt smiled nervously.

"A crane incident makes you think of me, that's comforting." The faint smell of her perfume hit matt's nostrils, it smelled sweet. Madison was already pulling at matt's hands to drag him upstairs. Mrs. Jensen saw her herself out, she knew Matt was in safe hands. As she reached outside, the doors of the limo were opened by the bodyguards. As she climbed in and seat belted up she looked at them and said.

"Keep up the good work and report back to me on the situation." They nodded. As the door closed the limo pulled away and headed for the gates. Meanwhile upstairs, Madison was showing matt her bedroom; it was large and rectangular with wooden floors and green sofas. She had tons of materials and equipment lying around on a three foot high dark oak coffee table. Matt was stunned. Her whole room was yellow walled and huge.

"Wow, Madison." Matt exclaimed. "Your room's incredible. The place where me and my dad use to live could fit in here easy." Madison felt some unease, she felt guilty about showing matt her room, where matt grew up with almost nothing she grew up with everything. But matt didn't seem to care, he was happy...for now anyway. Matt was looking around her room when he noticed a jewellery box. It was small and wooden, carvings on it were beautiful, but it seemed familiar. "What's this?" matt asked.

"It's my mothers, it holds something precious inside."

"Didn't you tell me that the shield card was protecting it?" Madison nodded. It was still strange having matt know the secret that sakura and Madison shared withSyaoranand Meilin.

"I might need your help later with something." She tried to change the subject. Matt looked up.

"Sure Madison, I'll help you whatever way I can."

"That's good." She smiled "Because it's a surprise for you."

"For me?" Matt was startled by the fact Madison was making him something, but for what? His mission or was it a gift of friendship. But a dark thought in the back of his mind made matt think that Madison was doing this because she felt pity towards him. Matt shook his head, trying to toss out that thought like the rotten fish it was.

"Are you ok?" she asked concerned about him.

"Yeah I'm fine." He smiled. Just then a knock came at the door.

"Come in." Madison replied. All of a sudden the door swung open furiously, the person opening it almost took it off its hinges. A woman came in breathless; her brown hair had a fringe that went to one side with a bowl cut around the top of her head. She had beautiful blue eyes like Madison's. Her face was slim and beautiful and her nose was perfectly centred. Her lips were red and slim to match her physique. She had two small pearl like earrings attached to her ears. She was dressed and looked like a fashion model. She wore a silk scarf tied in a bow to one side and a light blue top underneath. "Hi, mum. Your back early." Madison replied to her mother. As Samantha walked over to them matt politely said to her.

"It's good to see you again, Mrs. Taylor." As she stood above, she knelt down to his level in her mauve skirt and held his hands gently and said to him with a sparkle in her eyes.

"Hello Matthew."

"Thanks for having me here." He smiled at her.

"I hope that Ooishi didn't give you too much trouble, he can be a little... bothersome sometimes."

"Well, he didn't give me too much grief, but then again it wouldn't be Ooishi if he didn't." He joked. Samantha giggled, all proud and ladylike. As she stood up she suggested to them.

"Why don't we have our tea outside? I bought some cake this morning." She must've known matt was coming and prepared herself for his arrival.

"Ok. Sounds great." He smiled at her. As she ushered them out by placing her hands on both of their shoulders a maid walked in carrying a tray, with fancy porcelain cups for three. It was the one who waited downstairs with Matt before Madison turned up.

"Can you bring our tea and cake to the garden." she asked the maid.

"Yes Ms Taylor." The maid responded. The maid was young but very professional.

The sun was shining brightly as it reflected of the lake and the windows at the back of the house. The lake was teeming with plant life and they looked so beautiful, to think it was only April. In the middle lake was a wooden board walk connected to all sides. A beautifully decorated table lay in the middle, this was really fancy, matt wasn't used to this but he knew this was more than just a simple tea with his friend and her mother. This was something more; they were helping him adjust to the new lifestyle he'll be facing. The rich outside tea gatherings, cake and tea served by maids and delightful talks about classic arts and what not. But that was matt's general idea of people who were born wealthy would act, however here at the Taylors, his perspective changed. The maids and laid their tea but Samantha was cutting the cake herself. It was a beautiful double layer strawberry shortcake. It's white creamy coating and the strawberries on top held by cream, looked delicious and beautiful. As she cut it into pieces she looked at matt with soft eyes and said.

"Do you like strawberries matt?"

"I sure do." He answered. As Samantha placed two pink porcelain plates in front of matt and Madison, she sat down and closed her eyes.

"Your mother loved strawberries. She would eat anything with strawberries in them, but her biggest weakness was strawberry shortcake." She said as she remembered her as if it was only yesterday. That took matt by surprise. Mrs Taylor knew his mother? How? Almost as if reading his thoughts Madison replied.

"She and my mum use to go to Tokyo University together." Samantha nodded.

"We were good friends." She said almost sadly that matt's mother was gone. She hid her emotions well and smiled at them. As she looked at them she said to them. "Well, let's dig in."

"Thank you." Matt replied as he picked up his fork. It gleaming silver must've been polished extensively. Matt cut the cake using the side of the fork and put the bit of cake in his mouth. Samantha was watching him with soft eyes. Madison said the cake was delicious, Samantha nodded in agreement. Her focus was on matt's opinion. Matt never tasted something so sweet he could do a lot of things, cooking sweet things, not so much. He smiled happily.

"How's it taste?" she asked matt sweetly.

"It's great. You have an excellent taste in cakes Mrs. Taylor." Her eyes sparkled at matt's reply, and then she smiled softly. Later on after matt finished a maid came and cleaned up the plates. Matt had only just realised that Samantha was gazing at him the whole time. Her face blushed and she had the gaze of wonderment in her eyes. As she rested her head on her right hand she sighed and said.

"You sure look like your mother, matt."

"Really, I do?" matt replied, surprisingly he thought he was more like his dad. Samantha nodded.

"Oh yes, she was a beautiful person, all the boys at Tokyo university instantly fell in love with her. But I think you get your athletic ability from your father." As she looked at him she said "Your mother and father were the kindest people I've ever met, it was thanks to your father that I got job of designing gadgets and then eventually help set up my own business." Suddenly she looked serious and then asked him. "Matt may I be so bold and ask you something?"

"Sure Mrs. Taylor." Matt was thrown back by the suddenness of the question.

"Do you like, being a spy? Just like your father." Matt looked down and said.

"To tell you the truth, I don't but I have no choice."

"Why's that?"

"Because there's someone important to me I want to keep around, so if a dangerous assignment is all it takes to keep this person around, I'll do it no matter how much I want to go against it." She smiled, she could tell matt was serious and kind. Samantha sat up straight.

"I think your parents would be proud of you, it sad not having them around anymore but something tells me you're going to be just like them." She then winked and gave him a secret smile. Matt couldn't help but blush. "Your parents would be proud, I know I am. But enough about JIN 7. Would you like some more tea?" She asked

"Yes please." Matt smiled. The tea was sweet.

"Would you like some more cake, too?" before matt could answer he saw that her face had changed what had once been a kind face to a startled look. As matt looked behind him he saw a maid approaching, clutching something close to her chest. As she stood next to matt, feet together she spoke the words Samantha hated the most.

"Urgent call from the office." Samantha stood up, she wasn't happy; her tone of voice gave it away when she spoke.

"Oh no, not today." As she walked over to the maid and spoke into the phone her who attitude started to change. "Hello, Ms Taylor." She answered. Matt wished he could hear down the other end to find out what caused Ms Taylor attitude to change from polite to nearly snapping at the person. "No, No. They not ready yet, I'll give them to matt when they ready, tell Ooishi that." As she hanged up she returned to her calm self and said apologetic to matt. "I'm sorry you had to hear that matt, but I have to go and see on your new gadgets." As Madison stood up she said to her mother.

"In the meantime I'll take matt back to my room and start on his makeover." Samantha smiled and nodded.

"Ok. I promise I'll be back before dinner." As matt stood up he said to Samantha.

"Thank you for the tea and cake, Ms Taylor." Samantha smiled and waved goodbye. As he turned the corner up to Madison's room, she wiped a tear from her eye with a handkerchief that was in her skirt pocket. In her heart she promised matt she wouldn't give him any gadgets until they were tested, 100 times.

As madison and matt climbed the stairs matt looked around at the walls, they were all bare. Blue walls with nothing on them, yet matt could see faint outlines of paintings or pictures that use to hang there. It was an eerie silence "Your mum is very nice."

"Thanks, that means a lot." Madison said strangely. Matt wanted to ask more about her mum but he dropped the subject fearing it might be too personal; after all he was a guest at Madison's home. As Madison opened the door she asked matt to stand over by the table where her sewing kit was. As he did what she asked, she took out a long white tape measure; she was taking measurements of his leg, inner leg, waist, and chest and wrote them all down. As she came to measure his neck she got the faint smell of matt's musk, it smelled wonderful, she couldn't help but inhale deeply and lose her train of thought. She was only snapped out of this trance when matt said.

"Umm, Madison, could you loosen the tape measure." She blinked repeatedly and said stammering.

"Yes, of course...s...sorry about that." As she put down her tape measure and his last measurement, she was impressed by his size, well built, athletic, and now spy. As she smiled and turned to "Right now that's all done, let's begin." she said to matt. Matt sat down on a chair and closed his eyes; Madison said it was going to be a surprise. Hours later Samantha returned from her meeting with the board of designers. She had just walked into Madison's room when she saw Matt's transformation she couldn't help but scream. Matt's appearance was frightening but very convincing, the rich rebel son that nobody would be proud of. After a few minutes she calmed down.

"I'm sorry for that scream matt," she said apologetic "It's just your look is very…. convincing." Matt nodded,

"Did the trick." He said at first, he sighed and then asked Madison. "Is this really how boys who rebel speak?" Madison was holding a teen magazine looking at the article with big bold letters at the top reading.

**Understanding Rebel Speak**

"Yes matt, it says here," she said as she quoted from the article "Rebels like to keep conversations short and use as fewer words as possible." "These words include "yeah" for most replies. "Suppose" for maybe replies and "what ev's" for avoiding a conversation they don't want to hear." He smiled; Madison was helping him as much as she can. Samantha then told them dinner will be in an hour, it would be enough time for matt to change back to his normal self, matt agreed. An hour later he walked down the stairs to the main dining room. As he sat in the large hall were dinner was already served with Samantha and Madison sitting at the end of a long dark wooden mahogany table, he was amazed on how big the actual table was. Thankfully there were only three of them and he sat down next to them. They talked and laughed and matt explained why he did what he did with the crane, Madison was taking this all in, her mother just stared at matt with wonder and knew she was right, he did look like his mum but acted so much like his dad. The rest of the night was a blur filled with run by scenarios and music. For the last hour before bed, matt and Madison were sitting in white chairs on the Terrance looking up at the stars. "Your progress is coming along well matt." Madison suddenly spoke. It was the first she spoke since sitting out here, matt was caught off guard and then replied.

"Yeah, suppose." Madison and matt laughed, it was matt's only response his mind didn't have time to respond by Madison's sudden praise. Just then a maid called out from the French doors.

"Ms. Taylor." as Madison turned round the maid looked sweet and kind but very professional. "Your mother has instructed me to tell you, bedtime is in five minutes."

"Thank you." Madison smiled back. The maid didn't show it but she was worried about this boy, who was he and why was he here. But it was not her place to ask questions but her job to serve. As Madison and matt stood up she smiled at him hiding the fact she was worried of losing him on this mission. "Well we better get to bed, you got a long day tomorrow and so have I." She turned to leave but matt suddenly grabbed her hand gently and said to her.

"Madison there's something I want to tell you."

"What is it?" she asked curious by matt's blushing face and his eyes avoiding her gaze. Matt stepped closer.

"I don't know if I can say it aloud."

"Then whisper it." She said as she faced him and held his hands. Her eyes sparkled in the stars, matt's hands were beginning to sweat and he was getting hotter as he learnt closer to her, he then said in a low hush tone.

"Okay, you see. I'm..." he then whispered something her ear. Madison's eyes widened, she couldn't believe what she just heard. As she released herself from matt's hands, she stood back and said surprised.

"R...really?"

"Yeah."

"How long have you felt this way?"

"Since the first day we met. I just didn't have the courage to say it; do you think I'm an idiot?"

"No." She shook her head. "Actually I've known for a while."

"What! When? How? Why?" all the obvious questions came tumbling out. Which one did he pick to ask first? Madison just smiled and said.

"All you need to know is that I know. Thank you." Matt just smiled. After that whole ordeal they went straight to bed tomorrow would be the day where everything began. The next morning came all too quickly, the grey light breaking over the high marble walls and wrought iron gates. Matt was waiting on the steps with Samantha, Madison and the whole house staff. It was some goodbye. Saluted by the seven body guards, bowed by the maids and hugged tightly by Madison and her mother. The limo at the bottom did not belong to Madison; in fact it wasn't even from Tomoeda. It was driven by an unsmiling chauffer who came from the Hiroku household.

"Be careful." Madison whispered.

"You too." Matt replied. "Funny thing happened to me last night." Madison looked surprised. "I could have sworn someone kissed me on my forehead, at least twice." Madison blushed brightly, but calmed herself down before looking in matt's eyes.

"Maybe it was a dream."

"Maybe or..." he went to say the normal response when Madison said in unison with him.

"Suppose!" they both laughed, like brother and sister. Matt walked down the stairs smiling. As he climbed in the chauffer shut the door behind him and drove at quick speeds away from the Taylor mansion. As the limo disappeared Madison wiped a tear from her eye with a handkerchief, soft and white but in the corner stood a red mark, not blood. But red lipstick. She didn't want to admit it but she was the one who kissed sometime in the night but only the once, where the second came from she didn't know but like most things, everything will be shrouded in mystery and the shadows.


	6. Shadow Hunting

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 6: Shadow Hunting**

The chauffer- driven Toyota Century Second Generation cruised along a tree-lined avenue, penetrating ever deeper into the Hinamizawa countryside, its 6.75-liter light pressure V8 engine barely a whisper in the, great green silence all around Matt who sat in the back, trying to be unimpressed by this car that cost as much as a house. Forget the plush carpeting, the wooden panels, and the leather seats, he told himself. It's only a car. It was the day after his meeting at JIN 7, and, as Korindo Ooishi had ordered, his appearance had completely changed. He had to look like a rebel, the rich son who wanted to live life by his own rules. Madison did a really great job, even he couldn't tell who he was. So Matt had been dressed in purposefully provocative clothes. He was wearing a red T-shirt underneath a light blue over vest tattered at the bottom. A baggy, black hoodie with purple flames on the hood, back and arms hung off his shoulders. His faded Tommy Hilfiger jeans, frayed at the knees and ankles. Despite his protests, his hair had been greased back and flattened, and his right ear had been pierced. He could still feel it throbbing underneath the temporary stud that had been put in to keep the hole from closing.

The car had reached a set of wrought iron gates, which opened automatically to receive it. And there was Osokiuo Mansion, a great mansion with stone figures on the terrace and seven figures in the price. George Hiroku's family had lived here for generations, Mrs. Jensen had told him. They also seemed to own half the Hinamizawa countryside. The grounds stretched for miles in every direction, with sheep dotted across the hills on one side and three horses watching from an enclosure on the other. The house itself was Georgian: white brick with slender windows and columns. Everything looked very neat. There was a walled garden with evenly spaced beds, a square glass conservatory housing a swimming pool, and a series of ornamental hedges with every leaf perfectly in place. The car stopped. The horses swung their necks around to watch Matt get out, their tails rhythmically beating at flies. Nothing else moved. The chauffeur walked around to the trunk.

"Master George Hiroku will be inside," he said. He had disapproved of Matt from the moment he set eyes on him. Of course, he hadn't said as much. But he was a professional. He could show it with his eyes. Matt moved away from the car, drawn toward the conservatory on the other side of the drive. It was a warm day, the sun beating down on the glass, and the water on the other side looked suddenly inviting. He passed through an open set of doors. It was hot inside the conservatory. The smell of chlorine rose up from the water stifling him.

He had thought that the pool was empty, but as he watched, a figure swam up from the bottom, breaking through the surface just in front of him. It was a girl, dressed only in a white bikini. She had long, black hair and dark eyes, but her skin was pale. Matt guessed she must be sixteen years old and remembered what Mrs. Jensen had told him about George Hiroku. "He has a daughter ... she's a year older than you." So this must be her. He watched her heave herself out of the water. Her body was well shaped, closer to the woman she would become than the girl she had been. She was going to be beautiful. That much was certain. The trouble was, she already knew it. When she looked at Matt, arrogance flashed in her eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked. "What are you doing in here?"

"I'm Matt."

"Oh, yes." She reached for a towel and wrapped it around her neck. "Daddy said you were coming, but I didn't expect you just to walk in like this." Her voice was very adult and upper class. It sounded strange, coming out of that sixteen-year old mouth. "Do you swim?" she asked.

"Yes," Matt said.

"That's a shame. I don't like having to share the pool. Especially with a boy. And a smelly Tomoeda boy at that." She ran her eyes over Matt, taking in the torn jeans, the greased hair, and the stud in his ear. She shuddered. "I can't think what Daddy was doing, agreeing to let you stay," she went on. "And having to pretend you're my brother! What a ghastly idea! If I did have a brother, I can assure you he wouldn't look like you." Matt was wondering whether to pick the girl up and throw her back into the pool or out through a window or to tie that towel around her neck really tight, when there was a movement behind him, and he turned to see a tall, rather aristocratic man with curling grey hair and glasses, wearing a sports jacket, open-neck shirt, and cords, standing just behind him. He too seemed a little jolted by Matt's appearance, but he recovered quickly, extending a hand.

"Matt?" he demanded.

"Yes."

"I'm George Hiroku." Matt shook his hand.

"How do you do," he said politely.

"I hope you had a good journey. I see you've met my daughter." He smiled at the girl, who was now sitting beside the pool, drying herself and ignoring them both.

"We haven't actually introduced ourselves," Matt said.

"Her name is Alice."

"Alice Hiroku." Matt smiled. "That's not a name I'll forget."

"I'm sure the two of you will get along fine." George Hiroku didn't sound convinced. He gestured back toward the house. "Why don't we go and talk in the study?" Matt followed him back across the drive and into the house. The front door opened into a hall that could have come straight out of the pages of an expensive magazine. Everything was perfect, the antique furniture, ornaments, and paintings placed exactly so. There wasn't a speck of dust to be seen and even the sunlight, streaming in through the windows, seemed almost artificial, as if it was there only to bring out the best in everything it touched. It was the house of a man who knows exactly what he wants and has the time and money to get it.

"Nice place," Matt said.

"Thank you. Please come this way." George Hiroku opened a heavy, oak-panelled door to reveal a sophisticated and modern office beyond. There was a desk and two chairs, a pair of computers, a white leather sofa, and a series of metal bookshelves. George Hiroku motioned at the chair and sat down behind the desk. He was unsure of himself. Matt could see it immediately. George Hiroku might run a business empire worth millions even billions-of yen, but this was a new experience for him. Having Matt here, knowing who and what he was, he wasn't quite sure how to react. "I've been told very little about you," he began. "Korindo Ooishi got in touch with me and asked me to put you up here for the rest of the week, to pretend that you're my son. I have to say, you don't look anything like me."

"I don't look anything like myself either," Matt said.

"You're on your way to some school in the French Alps. They want you to investigate it." He paused. "Nobody asked me my opinion," he said, "But I'll give it to you anyway. I don't like the idea of a fifteen-year-old boy being used as a spy. It's dangerous-"

"I can look after myself," Matt cut in.

"I mean, it's dangerous to the government. If you manage to get yourself killed and anyone finds out, it could cause the prime minister a great deal of embarrassment." George Hiroku sighed. "I advised him against it, but for once he overruled me. It seems that the decision has already been made. This school-the academy-has already telephoned me to say that the assistant director will be coming here to pick you up next Saturday. It's a woman. A Mrs. Stenavich. That's a South African name, I think." George Hiroku had a number of bulky files on his desk. He slid them forward. "In the meantime, I understand you have to familiarize yourself with details about my family. I've prepared a number of files. You'll also find information here about one the schools you're meant to have been expelled from. You can start reading them tonight." Matt took them and he went on. "If you need to know anything more, just ask. Alice will be with you the whole time." He glanced down at his fingertips. "I'm sure that in itself will be quite an experience for you." The door opened and a woman came in. She was slim with dark hair, very much like her daughter. She was wearing a simple mauve dress with a string of pearls around her neck.

"George," she began, and then stopped, seeing Matt.

"This is my wife," Hiroku said. "Christine, this is the boy I was telling you about. Matt."

"It's very nice to meet you, Matt." Lady Christine tried to smile but her lips managed only a faint twitch. "I understand you're going to stay with us for a while."

"Yes, Mother," Matt said. Lady Christine blushed.

"He has to pretend to be our son," George Hiroku reminded her. He turned to Matt. "Alice doesn't know anything about JIN 7 and the rest of it. I don't want to alarm her. I've told her that it's connected with my work ... a social experiment, if you like. She's to pretend you're her brother, to give you a week in the country as part of the family. I'd prefer it if you didn't tell her the truth."

"Dinner is in half an hour," Lady Christine said. "Do you eat venison?" She sniffed. "Perhaps you'd like to shower before you eat? I'll show you to your room." George Hiroku stood up.

"You've got a lot of reading to do. I'm afraid I have to go back to Tomoeda tomorrow I have lunch with the president of France-so I won't be able to help you. But, as I say, if there's anything you don't know . . ."

"Alice Hiroku," Matt said.

Matt had been given a small comfortable room at the back of the house. He took a quick shower, and then put his old clothes back on again. He liked to feel clean but he had to look grimy-it suited the character of the boy he was supposed to be. He opened the first of the files. George Hiroku had been thorough. He had given Matt the names and recent histories of just about the entire family, as well as photographs of vacations, details of the house and stables in Hinamizawa, the apartments in New York, Paris, and Rome, and the villa in Barbados. There were newspaper clippings, magazine articles ...everything he could possibly need. A gong sounded. It was seven o'clock. Matt went downstairs and into the dining room. The room had six windows and a polished mahogany table long enough to seat fifteen. But only the three of them were there: George Hiroku, Lady Christine, and Alice. The food had already been served, presumably by a butler or cook. George Hiroku gestured at an empty chair. Matt sat down.

"Alice was just talking about Soloman," Lady Christine said. There was a pause. "Soloman is a horse. We have lots of horses." She turned to Matt. "Do you ride?"

"Only my bicycle," Matt said.

"I'm sure Matt isn't interested in horses," Alice said. She appeared to be in a bad mood. "In fact, I doubt if we have anything in common. Why do I have to pretend he's my brother? The whole thing is completely-"

"Alice . . . ," George Hiroku muttered in a low voice.

"Well, it's all very well having him here, Daddy, but it is meant to be my Easter vacation." Matt realized that Alice must go to a private school. Her term would have ended earlier than his. "I don't think it's fair."

"Matt is here because of my work," George Hiroku continued. It was strange, Matt thought, the way they talked about him as if he weren't actually there. "I know you have a lot of questions, Alice, but you're just going to have to do as I say. He's with us only until the end of the week. I want you to look after him."

"But he's a city boy!" Alice insisted. "He's going to hate it here. And anyway, how can pretending he's my brother help you with your supermalls?"

"Alice . . ." George Hiroku didn't want any more argument. "It's what I told you. An experiment. And you will make him feel welcome!" Alice picked up her glass and looked directly at Matt for the first time since he had come into the room.

"We'll see about that," she said.

The week seemed endless. After only two days, Matt was beginning to think that Alice was right. He was a city boy. He had lived his whole life in Tomoeda and felt utterly lost, suffocating in the big green blanket of the countryside. The estate went on for as far as the eye could see, and the Hiroku's seemed to have no connection with the real world, yet they were only miles from the small village of Hinamizawa. Matt had never felt more isolated. George Hiroku himself had disappeared to Tomoeda. Lady Christine did her best to avoid Matt. Once or twice she drove into Hinamizawa, but otherwise she seemed to spend a lot of time gardening or arranging flowers. And Alice . . . She had made it clear from the start how much she disliked Matt. There could be no reason for this. It was simply that he was an outsider, and Alice seemed to mistrust anything that didn't belong to the miniature world of Osokiuo Mansion. Yet her so called class mates at her school in Hinamizawa seem to trust him a whole lot more than she did. She'd asked him several times what he was really doing there. Matt had shrugged and said nothing, which had only made her dislike him all the more. And then, on the third day, she introduced him to some of her friends. None that went to school.

"I'm going shooting," she told him. "I don't suppose you want to come?" Matt shrugged. He had memorized most of the details in the files and figured he could easily pass as a member of the family. Now he was counting the hours until the woman from the academy arrived to take him away. "Have you ever been shooting?" Alice asked.

"No," Matt said.

"I go hunting and shooting," Alice said. "But of course, you're a city boy. You wouldn't understand."

"What's so great about killing animals?" Matt asked.

"It's part of the country way of life. It's tradition." Alice looked at him as if he were stupid. It was how she always looked at him. "Anyway, the animals enjoy it."

The shooting party turned out to be young and-apart from Alice-entirely male. Five of them were waiting on the edge of a forest that was part of the Osokiuo Mansion estate. Jameson, the leader, was sixteen and well built with dark, curling hair. He seemed to be Alice's boyfriend. The others Henry, Max, Ray, and Fred-were about the same age. Matt looked at them with a heavy heart. They had uniform Barbour jackets, tweed trousers, flat caps, and Hunts man leather boots. They spoke with uniform upper-class accents. Each of them carried a shotgun, with the barrel broken over his arm. Two of them were smoking. They gazed at Matt with barely concealed contempt. Alice must have already told them about him. The city boy. Quickly, she made the introductions. Jameson stepped forward.

"Nice to have you with us," he drawled. He ran his eyes over Matt, not bothering to hide his contempt. "Up for a bit of shooting, are you?"

"I don't have a gun," Matt said.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm not going to lend you mine." Jameson snapped the barrel back into place and held it up for Matt to see. It was inches away from his face and he was looking down the barrel of it. It was a beautiful gun, with twenty-five inches of gleaming steel stretching out of a dark walnut stock decorated with ornately carved, solid silver side plates.

"Do you like it?" he asked matt, not that he cared for his opinion. "It's an over-and-under shotgun with detachable trigger lock, handmade by Abbiatico and Salvinelli," he said. "It cost me thirty million yen-or my mother, anyway. It was a birthday present."

"It couldn't have been easy to wrap," Matt said. "Where did she put the pretty ribbon?" Jameson's smile faded.

"You wouldn't know anything about guns," he said. He nodded at one of the other teenagers, who handed Matt a much more ordinary weapon. It was old and a little rusty. "You can use this one," he said. "And if you're very good and don't get in the way, maybe we'll let you have a cartridge." They all laughed at that. Then the two smokers put out their cigarettes and everyone set off into the woods.

Thirty minutes later, Matt knew he had made a mistake in coming. The boys blasted away left and right, aiming at anything that moved. A rabbit spun in a glistening red ball. A wood pigeon tumbled out of the branches and flapped around on the leaves below. Whatever the quality of their weapons, the teenagers weren't good shots. The animals they managed to hit were only wounded, and Matt felt a growing sickness, following this trail of blood.

They reached a clearing and paused to reload. Matt turned to Alice.

"I'm going back to the house," he said.

"Why? Can't stand the sight of a little blood?" Matt glanced at a hare about fifty feet away. It was lying on its side with its back legs kicking helplessly.

"I'm surprised they let you carry guns," he said. "I thought you had to be seventeen."

Jameson overheard him. He stepped forward, an ugly look in his eyes and stared down at matt.

"We don't bother with rules in the countryside," he muttered.

"Maybe Matt wants to call a policeman!" Alice said.

"The nearest police station is forty miles from here," Jameson said with a cold smile.

"Do you want to borrow my cell phone?" one of the other boys asked. They all laughed again. Matt had had enough. Without saying another word, he turned around and walked off.

It had taken him thirty minutes to reach the clearing, but thirty minutes later he was still stuck in the woods, completely surrounded by trees and wild shrubs. Matt realized he was lost. He was annoyed with himself. He should have watched where he was going when he was following Alice and the others. The forest was enormous. Walk in the wrong direction and he might blunder onto the plains or near the shrine... and it could be days before he was found. At the same time, the spring foliage was so thick that he could barely see ten yards in any direction. How could he possibly find his way? Should he try to retrace his steps or continue forward in the hope of stumbling on the right path? Matt sensed danger before the first shot was fired. Perhaps it was the snapping of a twig or the click of a metal bolt being slipped into place. He froze-and that was what saved him. There was an explosion-loud, close-and a tree one step ahead of him shattered, splinters of wood dancing in the air. Matt turned around, searching for whoever had fired the shot.

"What are you doing?" he shouted. "You nearly hit me!" Almost immediately there was a second shot and, just behind it, a whoop of excited laughter. And then Matt realized what was happening: They hadn't mistaken him for an animal. They were aiming at him for fun. He dived forward and began to run. The trunks of the trees seemed to press in on him from all sides, threatening to bar his way. The ground underneath was soft from recent rain and dragged at his feet, trying to glue them into place. There was a third explosion. He ducked, feeling the gunshot spray above his head, shredding the foliage. Anywhere else in the world, this would have been madness. But this was the middle of the Japanese countryside and these were rich, bored teenagers who were used to having things their own way. Somehow, Matt had insulted them. Perhaps it had been the jibe about the ribbion. Perhaps it was his refusal to tell Alice who he really was. But they had decided to teach him a lesson, and they would worry about the consequences later. Did they mean to kill him?

"_We don't bother with rules in the countryside_," Jameson had said. If Matt was badly wounded-or even killed-they would somehow get away with it. A dreadful accident. He wasn't looking where he was going and stepped into the line of fire.

No. That was impossible.

They were trying to scare him-that was all.

Two more shots. A pheasant erupted out of the ground, a ball of spinning feathers, and screamed up into the sky. Matt ran on, his breath rasping in his throat. A thick briar reached out across his chest and tore at his clothes. He still had the gun he had been given, and he used it to beat a way through. A tangle of roots almost sent him sprawling.

"Matt? Where are you?" The voice belonged to Jameson. It was high-pitched and mocking, coming from the other side of a barrier of leaves. There was another shot, but this one went high over his head.

They couldn't see him. Had he escaped?

No, he hadn't. Matt came to a stumbling, sweating halt. He had broken out of the woods but he was still hopelessly lost. Worse-he was trapped. He had come to the edge of a wide, filthy lake. The water was a scummy brown and looked almost solid. No ducks or wild birds came anywhere near the surface. The evening sun beat down on it and the smell of decay drifted up.

"He went that way!"

"No ... through here!"

"Let's try the lake."

Matt heard the voices and knew that he couldn't let them find him here. He had a sudden image of his body, weighed down with stones, at the bottom of the lake. But that gave him an idea. He had to hide. He stepped into the water. He would need something to breathe through. He had seen people do this in films. They would lie in the water and breathe through a hollow reed. But there were no reeds here. Apart from grass and thick, slimy algae, nothing was growing at all.

One minute later, Jameson appeared at the edge of the lake, his gun still hooked over his arm. He stopped and looked around with eyes that knew the forest well. Nothing moved.

"He must have doubled back," he said. The other hunters had gathered behind him. There was tension between them now, a guilty silence.

They knew the game had gone too far.

"Let's forget him," one of them said.

"Yeah . . ."

"We've taught him a lesson."

They were in a hurry to get home. As one, they disappeared back the way they had come. Jameson was left on his own, still clutching his gun, searching for Matt. He took one last look across the water, and then turned to follow them. That was when Matt struck. He had been lying under the water, watching the vague shapes of the teenagers as if through a sheet of thick brown glass. The barrel of the shotgun was in his mouth. The rest of the gun was just above the surface of the lake. He was using the hollow tubes to breathe. Now he rose up-a nightmare creature oozing mud and water, with fury in his eyes. Jameson heard him but he was too late. Matt swung the shotgun, catching Jameson in the small of the back. Jameson grunted and fell to his knees, his own gun falling out of his hands. Matt picked it up. There were two cartridges in the breech. He snapped the gun shut and pointed it at him. Jameson looked at him, and suddenly all the arrogance had gone and he was just a stupid, frightened teenager, struggling to get to his knees.

"Matt . . ." The single word came out as a whimper. It was as if he were seeing Matt for the first time. "I'm sorry!" he snivelled. "We weren't really going to hurt you. It was a joke. Alice put us up to it. We just wanted to scare you. Please . . . don't kill me." Matt's finger had been on the trigger and his eyes were burning with hatred. His white teeth were bearing like a mad animal about to attack. Matt lowered the gun. He paused, breathing heavily.

"How do I get out of here?" he asked.

"Just follow the lake around," Jameson said. "There's a path, but it will take you to Hinamizawa."

"I'll take my chances." Jameson was still on his knees. There were tears in his eyes. Matt realized that he was still pointing the silver-plated shotgun in his direction. He turned it away, disgusted with himself. This boy wasn't the enemy. He was nothing.

"Don't follow me," Matt said and began to walk.

"Please!" Jameson called after him. "Can I have my gun back? My mother would kill me if I lost it." Matt stopped. He weighed the weapon in his hands, and then threw it with all his strength. The handcrafted Italian shotgun spun twice in the dying light, then disappeared with a splash in the middle of the lake.

"You're too young to play with guns," he said. He walked away, letting the forest swallow him up.


	7. Black Walls

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 7: Black Walls**

The man sitting in the gold, antique chair turned his head slowly and gazed out the window at the snow-covered slopes of ombre Académie. Dr. Howard Sorrow was almost sixty years old with short, white hair and a face that was almost colourless too. His skin was white, his lips vague shadows. Even his tongue was no more than gray. And yet, against this blank background, he wore circular wire glasses with dark red lenses. For him, the entire world would be the colour of blood. He had long fingers, the nails beautifully manicured. He was dressed in a dark suit buttoned up to his neck. If there were such a thing as a vampire, it might look very much like Dr. Howard Sorrow.

"I have decided to move the Shadow Project into its last phase," he said. He spoke with a South African accent, biting into each word before it left his mouth. "There can be no further delay."

"I understand, Dr. Sorrow." A woman sat opposite Dr. Sorrow, dressed in tight-fitting spandex with a sweatband around her head. This was Eva Stenavich. She had just finished her morning workout two hours of weight lifting and aerobics-and was still breathing heavily, her huge muscles rising and falling. Mrs. Stenavich had a facial structure that wasn't quite human, with lips curving out far in front of her nose and wisps of bright ginger hair hanging over a high-domed forehead. She was holding a glass filled with some milky green liquid. Her fingers were thick and stubby. She had to be careful not to break the glass. She sipped her drink, and then frowned. "Are you sure we're ready?" she asked.

"We have no choice in the matter. We have had two unsatisfactory results in the last few months. First Anto Vanko. Then Jones in New York. Quite apart from the expense of arranging the terminations, it's possible that someone may have connected the two deaths."

"Possible, but unlikely," Mrs. Stenavich said.

"The intelligence services are idle and inefficient, it is true. The CIA in America. MI6 in England. JIN 7 in Japan, Even the KGB. They're all shadows of what they used to be. But even so, there's always the chance that one of them might have accidentally stumbled onto something. The sooner we end this phase of the operation, the more chance we have of remaining unnoticed." Dr. Sorrow brought his hands together and rested his chin on his fingers. "When is the final boy arriving?" he asked.

"Matt?" Mrs. Stenavich sipped from her cup and set it down. She opened her handbag and took out a handkerchief, which she used to wipe her lips. "I am travelling to Japan tomorrow," she said.

"Excellent. You'll take the boy to Rome on the way here?"

"Of course, Doctor. If that's what you wish."

"It is very much what I wish. We can do all the preliminary work there. It will save time. What about the Spurtz boy?"

"I'm afraid we still need another few days."

"That means that he and Matt will be here at the same time."

"Yes." Dr. Sorrow considered. He had to balance the risk of the two boys meeting against the dangers of moving too fast. It was fortunate that he had a scientific mind. His calculations were never wrong.

"Very well" he said "The Spurtz boy can stay with us for another few days. I sense he is growing restless, and a new friend might put his mind at ease." Mrs. Stenavich nodded. She lifted her glass and emptied its contents, the veins in her neck throbbing as she swallowed.

"Matt Hiroku is an excellent catch for us," Dr. Sorrow said.

"Supermalls?" The woman sounded unconvinced.

"His father has the prime minister's ear and has a seat on the UN. He is an impressive man. His son, I am sure, will meet up to all our expectations." Dr. Sorrow smiled. His eyes glowed red. "Very soon, we'll have Matt here, at the academy. And then, at last, the Shadow Project will be complete."

"You're sitting all wrong," Alice said. "Your back isn't straight. Your hands should be lower. And your feet are pointing the wrong way."

"What does it matter, so long as you're enjoying yourself?" Matt asked, speaking through gritted teeth. It was the fourth day of his stay at Osokiuo Mansion, and Alice had been persuaded to take him out riding. Matt wasn't enjoying himself at all. First he'd had to endure the inevitable lecture-although he had barely listened. The horses were Iberian or Hungarian. They'd won a bucketful of gold medals. Matt didn't care. All he knew was that his horse was big and black and attracted flies. And that he was riding it with all the style of a sack of potatoes on a trampoline. The two of them had barely mentioned the business in the forest. When Matt had limped back to the house, Alice had politely fetched him a him a cup of tea. She would have handed him a towel if he didn't meet up with one of alice's class mates. a girl called Mion Sonozaki who offered to clean him up, thinking he'd been involved in some sort of accident. She said it was the way the village worked, when someone needed help anyone and everyone would help. When he told the Hiroku's Alice's reply was simple.

"Freaks. All of them, It's bad enough I have to be in the same class as them and now helping you, probably just after our money." She despised everyone, anyone she couldn't buy. As the Hiroku's left matt, he turned to Alice with hatred in his eyes.

"You tried to kill me!" Matt said.

"Don't be silly." Alice looked at Matt with something like pity in her eyes. "We would never do that. Jameson is a very nice boy."

"'What?"

"It was just a game, Matt. Just a bit of fun." And that was it Alice had smiled as if everything had been explained and then gone to have a swim. Matt had spent the rest of the evening with the files. He was trying to take in a fake history that spanned fifteen years. There were uncles and aunts, friends at Hinamizawa's private school, a whole crowd of people he had to know without ever having met any of them. More than that, he was trying to get the feel of this luxurious lifestyle. That was why he was here now, out riding with Alice-she upright in her riding jacket and breeches, he bumping along behind. They had ridden for about an hour and a half when they came to a tunnel. Alice had tried to teach Matt a bit of technique-the difference, for example, between walking, trotting, and cantering. But this was one sport he had already decided he would never take up. Every bone in his body had been rattled out of shape, and his bottom was so bruised he wondered if he would ever be able to sit down again. Alice seemed to be enjoying his torment. He even wondered if she had chosen a particularly bumpy route to add to his bruises. Or maybe it was just a particularly bumpy horse. There was a single railway line ahead of them, crossed by a tiny lane with an automatic gate crossing equipped with a bell and flashing lights to warn motorists of any approaching train. Alice steered her horse-a smaller grey-toward it. Matt's horse automatically followed. He assumed they were going to cross the line, but when she reached the barrier, Alice stopped.

"There's a shortcut we can take if you want to get home," she said.

"A shortcut would be good," Matt admitted.

"It's that way." Alice pointed up the line toward a tunnel, a gaping black hole in the side of a hill, surrounded by dark red brick. Matt looked at her to see if she was joking. She was obviously quite serious. He turned back to the tunnel. It was like the barrel of a gun, pointing at him, warning him to keep away. He could almost imagine the giant finger on the trigger, somewhere behind the hill. How long was it? Looking more carefully, he could see a pinprick of light at the other end, perhaps half a mile away.

"You're not serious," he said.

"Actually, Matt, I don't usually tell jokes. When I say something, I mean it. I'm just like my father."

"Except your father isn't completely crazy," Matt muttered. Alice pretended not to hear him. "The tunnel is about one mile long," she explained. "There's a bridge on the other side then another gate crossing. If we go that way, we can be home in thirty minutes. Otherwise it's an hour and a half back the way we came."

"Then let's go the way we came."

"Oh, Matt, don't be such a scaredy-cat!" Alice pouted at him. "There's only one train an hour on this line and the next one isn't due for . . ." She looked at her watch. ". . . Twenty minutes. I've been through the tunnel a hundred times and it never takes more than five minutes. Less if you canter."

"It's still crazy to ride on a railway line."

"Well, you'll have to find your own way home if you turn back." She kicked with her heels and her horse jerked forward, past the barrier and onto the line. "I'll see you later." But Matt followed her. He would never have been able to ride back to the house on his own. He didn't know the way, and he could barely control his horse. Even now it was following Alice with no prompting from him. Would the two animals really enter the darkness of the tunnel? It seemed incredible, but Alice had said they had done it before, and sure enough, the horses walked into the side of the hill without even hesitating. Matt shivered as the light was suddenly cut off behind him.

It was cold and clammy inside. The air smelled of soot and diesel. The tunnel was a natural echo chamber. The horses' hooves rattled all around them as they struck against the gravel between the ties. What if his horse stumbled? Matt put the thought out of his mind. The leather saddles creaked. Slowly his eyes got used to the dark. A certain amount of sunshine was filtering in from behind. More comfortingly, the way out was clearly visible straight ahead, the circle of light widening with every step. He tried to relax. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so bad after all. And then Alice spoke. She had slowed down, allowing his horse to catch up with hers. "Are you still worried about the train, Matt?" she said scornfully. "Perhaps you'd like to go faster." He heard the riding crop whistle through the air and felt his horse jerk as Alice whipped it hard on the rear. The horse whinnied and leapt forward.

Matt was almost thrown backward off the saddle. Digging in with his legs, he just managed to cling on, but the whole top of his body was at a crazy angle, the reins tearing into the horse's mouth. Alice laughed and it echoced through the tunnel, it was almost demonic. And then Matt was aware only of the wind rushing past him, the thick blackness spinning around his face and the horses' hooves striking heavily at the gravel as the animal careened forward. Soot blew into his eyes, blinding him. He thought he was going to fall. Minutes seemed to pass in mere seconds. But then, miraculously, they burst out into the light. Matt fought for his balance and then brought the horse back under control, pulling back with the reins and squeezing the horse's flanks with his knees. He took a deep breath and waited for Alice to appear. His horse had come to rest on the bridge that she had mentioned. The bridge was fashioned out of thick iron girders and spanned a river. There had been a lot of rain that month and, about fifty feet below him; the water was racing past, dark green and deep. Carefully, he turned around to face the tunnel. If he lost control here, it would be easy to fall over the edge. The sides of the bridge couldn't have been more than three feet high. He could hear Alice approaching. She had been cantering after him, probably laughing the entire way. He gazed into the tunnel, and that was when Alice's grey horse burst out, raced past him, and disappeared through the gate crossing on the other side of the bridge.

But Alice wasn't on it.

The horse had come out alone.

It took Matt a few seconds to work it out. His head was reeling. She must have fallen off. Perhaps her horse had stumbled. She could be lying inside the tunnel. On the track. How long was there until the next train? Twenty minutes, she had said. But at least five of those minutes had gone, and she might have been exaggerating to begin with.

"Son of a bitch." Matt swore. Damn this wretched girl with her spoiled brat behaviour and her almost suicidal games. But he couldn't leave her. He seized hold of the reins. Somehow he would get this horse to obey him. He had to get her out, and he had to do it fast. Perhaps his desperation managed to communicate itself to the horse's brain. The animal wheeled around and tried to back away, but when Matt kicked with his heels, it stumbled forward and reluctantly entered the darkness of the tunnel for a second time. Matt kicked again. He didn't want to hurt it, but he could think of no other way to make it obey him. The horse trotted on. Matt searched ahead. "Alice!" he called out. There was no reply. He had hoped that she would be walking toward him, but he couldn't hear any footsteps. If only there was more light! The horse stopped and there she was, right in front of him, lying on the ground, her arms and chest actually on the line. If a train came now, it would cut her in half. It was too dark to see her face, but when she spoke he heard the pain in her voice.

"Matt. . . , " she said. "I think I've broken my ankle."

"What happened?"

"There was a cobweb or something. I was trying to keep up with you. It went in my face and I lost my balance." She'd been trying to keep up with him! She almost sounded as if she were blaming him-as if she had forgotten that she was the one who had whipped his horse in the first place.

"Can you get up?" Matt asked.

"I don't think so." Matt sighed. Keeping a tight hold on the reins, he slid off his horse. Alice had fallen right in the middle of the tunnel. He forced himself not to panic. If what she had told him was true, the next train must still be at least ten minutes away. He reached down to help her up. His foot came to rest on one of the rails ... and he felt something. Under his foot. Shivering up his leg. The track was vibrating.

The train was on its way.

"You've got to stand up," he said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. He could already see the train in his imagination, thundering along the line. When it plunged into the tunnel, it would be a five -hundred -ton torpedo that would smash them to pieces. He could hear the grinding of the wheels, the roar of the engines. Blood and darkness. It would be a horrible way to die. But he still had time. "Can you move your toes?" he asked.

"I think so." Alice was clutching him.

"Then your ankle's probably sprained, not broken. Come on." He dragged her up wondering if it would be possible to stay inside the tunnel, on the edge of the track. If they hugged the wall, the train might simply go past them. But Matt knew there wouldn't be enough space. And even if the train missed them, it would still hit the horse. Suppose it derailed? Dozens of people could be killed. "What train comes this way?" he asked. "Does it carry passengers?"

"Yes." Alice was sounding tearful. "It's a Bullet train. Heading to Tokyo."

Matt sighed. It was just his luck to get the only Bullet train ever to arrive on time.

Alice froze. "What's that?" she asked. She had heard the clanging of a bell. The gate crossing! It was signalling the approach of the train, the barrier lowering itself over the road. And then Matt heard a second sound that made his blood run cold. For a moment he couldn't breathe. It was extraordinary. His breath was stuck in his lungs and refused to get up to his mouth. His whole body was paralyzed as if some switch had been thrown in his brain. He was simply terrified.

The screech of a train whistle.

It was still a mile or more away, but the tunnel was acting as a sound conductor and he could feel it cutting into him. And then another sound: the rolling thunder of the engine. It was moving fast toward them. Underneath his foot, the rail vibrated more violently. Matt gulped for air and forced his legs to obey him.

"Get on the horse," he shouted. "I'll help you." Not caring how much pain he caused her, he dragged Alice next to the horse and forced her up onto the saddle. The noise grew louder with every second that passed. The rail was humming softly, like a giant tuning fork. The very air inside the tunnel seemed to be in motion, spinning left and right as if trying to get out of the way. Alice squealed and Matt felt her weight leave his arms as she fell onto the saddle. The horse whinnied and took a half step sideways, and for a dreadful moment Matt thought she was going to ride off without him. There was just enough light to make out the shapes of both the animal and its rider. He saw Alice grabbing the reins. She brought it back under control. Matt reached up and caught hold of the horse's mane. He used the thick hair to pull himself onto the saddle, in front of Alice. The noise of the train was getting louder and louder. Soot and loose concrete were trickling out of the curving walls. The wind currents were twisting faster, the rails singing. For a moment the two of them were tangled together, but then he had the reins and she was clinging on to him, her arms around his chest.

"Go!" he shouted and kicked the horse. The horse needed no encouragement. It raced for the light, galloping up the railway line, throwing Matt and Alice back and forward, into each other. Matt didn't dare look behind him, but he felt the train as it reached the mouth of the tunnel and plunged in, travelling at 105 miles per hour. A shock wave hammered into them. The train was punching the air out of its way, filling the space with solid steel. The horse understood the danger and burst forward with new speed, its hooves flying over the ties in great strides. Ahead of them the tunnel mouth opened up, but Matt knew, with a sickening sense of despair, that they weren't going to make it. Even when they got out of the tunnel, they would still be hemmed in by the sides of the bridge. The second gate crossing was a hundred yards farther down the line. They might get out but they would die in the open air.

The horse passed through the end of the tunnel. Matt felt the circle of darkness slip over his shoulders. Alice was screaming, her arms wrapped around him so tightly that he could barely breathe. He could hardly hear her. The roar of the train was right behind him, and as the horse began a desperate race over the bridge, he sneaked a glance around. He just had time to see the huge, metallic beast roar out of the tunnel, towering over them, its body painted the brilliant white and blue, the driver staring in horror from behind his window. There was a second blast from the train whistle, this one all-consuming, exploding all around them. Matt knew what he had to do. He pulled on one rein, at the same time kicking with the opposite foot. He just had to hope the horse would understand what he wanted. And somehow it worked. The horse veered around. Now it was facing the side of the bridge. There was a final, deafening blast from the train. The smell of death smothered them. Matt kicked again with all his strength. The horse jumped. The train roared past, missing them by inches. But now they were in the air, over the side of the bridge. The railcars were still thundering past, a blue and white blur. Alice screamed a second time. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion as they fell. One moment they were next to the bridge, a moment later underneath it and still falling. The green river rose up to receive them. The horse with its two riders plummeted through the air and crashed into the river. Matt just had time to snatch a breath.

He was afraid that the water wouldn't be deep enough, that all three of them would end up with broken necks. But they hit the surface and passed through, down into a freezing, dark green whirlpool that sucked at them greedily, threatening to keep them there forever. Alice was torn away from him. He felt the horse kick itself free. Bubbles exploded out of his mouth and he realized he was yelling. Finally, Matt rose to the surface again. The water was rushing past and, dragged back by his clothes and shoes, he clumsily swam for the nearest bank. The train driver hadn't stopped. Perhaps he had been too frightened by what had happened. Perhaps he wanted to pretend it hadn't happened at all. Either way, the train had gone. Matt reached the bank and pulled himsel upf, shivering, onto the grass. There was a splutter and a cough from behind him, and Alice appeared. She had lost her riding hat, and her long black hair was hanging over her face. Matt looked past her. The horse had also managed to reach dry land. It trotted forward and shook itself, seemingly unharmed. Matt was glad about that. When all was said and done, the horse had saved both their lives. He stood up. Water dripped out of his clothes. There was no feeling anywhere in his body. He wondered whether it was because of the cold water or the shock of what he had just been through. He went over to Alice and helped her to her feet.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes." She was looking at him strangely. She wobbled, and he put out a hand to steady her. "Thank you," she said.

"That's all right."

"No." She held on to his hand. Her shirt had fallen open and she threw back her head, shaking the hair out of her eyes. "What you did back there ... it was fantastic. Matt, I'm sorry I've been so awful to you all week. I thought-because you were here only for charity and all the rest of it-I thought you were just an oink. But I was wrong about you. You're really great. And I know we're going to be friends now." She half closed her eyes and moved toward him, her lips slightly parted. "You can kiss me if you like," she said. Matt let go of her and turned away.

"Thanks, Alice," he said. "But frankly I'd prefer to kiss the horse." The horse neighed and nodded its head in approval. She looked angry. "Come on, let's go get you ankle looked at." he said as he grabbed hold of her. She limped along side him but avoiding his gaze. And no more waswas said.


	8. Shadow of truth

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 8: Shadow of truth **

The clinic was a long white rectangle building with several floors. It was in a dusty part on the outskirts of Hinamizawa. It was strangely surrounded by a wire fence with barbed razor wire on top. The car park was deserted as matt helped a hobbling Alice into the car park towards the front entrance. Suddenly a girl called out behind them. As matt looked round he saw a girl with long pale green hair and green eyes running over to him. She was wearing a yellow shirt with a slight black turtle neck, a tied white sweatshirt around her waist, blue jeans and brown shoes. She also seemed to have a brown holster carrying an airsoft gun under her left arm. She was a year older than him and had a well developed body. He sometimes wondered if Alice was jealous of her classmate because of her figure.

"Hey...Mion, right?" he said to her. She nodded. "Thanks for your help yesterday."

"No problem." She said smiling. Her smile soon disappeared as she saw who he was with. Matt looked at her glaring eyes and suddenly said to break the tension.

"I'm helping her to see the doctor; she sprained her ankle by falling off her horse." He said as he struggled to keep her up.

"Do you need some help?" she offered.

"If you wouldn't mind." Matt said casually. As Mion came round the other side she said to matt as they lifted her off the ground.

"Don't be silly, it's like I said "When someone needs help the whole village would come to help." Alice scoffed. She thought all this talk about helping people was just a ploy. Mion ignored this, she was glad to help someone like matt. If only she knew the truth. They walked through the reception and matt felt the cold sterile air that lingered in the building. As soon as they sat her down in the waiting area, a nurse in a white starch outfit and blonde hair came out of her office.

"Hello Alice." She said kindly. "What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?" By the sounds of things Alice was accident prone if the nurse knew her that well and the comment "this time?" was made. Even though she was professional she tried to be friendly.

"I fell off my horse, Nurse Takano" she said avoiding eye contact, almost like she was embarrassed. A rich girl that owns a lot of horses that keeps falling off them.

"Okay we'll get you bandaged up and we'll call your parents, but first I'm going to need your name." She said when she looked at matt. This was one of the moments matt dreaded, did he tell her the truth and Alice knows who he really is or did keep to the cover story and have the person he was becoming friends with to hate him. He took a breath. He made his decision.

"My name is Matt...Hiroku. I'm Alice's younger brother." Mion was standing in shock to discover this for herself. The boy she helped was the younger brother to the Hiroku family, she felt betrayed.

"Okay. Thank you, we'll contact your parents and tell them where you are." As the door closed matt turned to face Mion to discover she was already heading for the door. She slammed the door wide opened, like she was angry with the door for not opening fast enough. Matt chased after her; he wanted to tell her truth. As he went back into the afternoon sun, he felt the heat hit him instantly, like it wanted to slow him down but he kept pushing forward he had to catch Mion who was already half way across the deserted car park. The sand was swirling around in the light breeze, matt shouted to her.

"Mion, Wait!" he didn't know why she stopped when he called out to her but he saw that anger was in her eyes. "Give me a chance to explain things." He said, his mouth was going dry but he had to tell her the truth.

"You lied to me." She shouted. "I can't believe I thought of you as my friend." She seemed hurt by this truth, matt stepped a little closer he didn't know how much closer he could get. He didn't know if that gun was just for show or to be used he didn't dare risk it.

"Please," he pleaded. "Give me a chance to explain myself." Mion stared at him like an insect under a magnifying glass, he felt like he was for a tense moment. He thought the sun was trying to cook him.

"Alright," she said "But I want the truth." Matt took a deep breath and moved closer so that he didn't have to shout. For what he was about to say he didn't want anyone to overhear him.

"Okay, my name is Matt Ishida. I come from Tomoeda, I was sent here by the Japanese Intelligence Network Sector 7. JIN 7 for short. I'm a teenage spy working undercover to get into a school in the Alps, France." The expression on Mion's face was becoming angrier and less friendly the more matt explained. "Apparently two deaths are connected by this academy, that's why I have to pretend to be Alice's younger brother." She looked down at the dusty car park and said in a low hush tone.

"I don't believe it."

"I know, it's a lot to take in. Even I didn't believe it when they told me my dad was-"

"I don't believe, I gave you a chance to explain yourself and you continue to lie to me." She screamed. Matt didn't believe it himself, he tells someone the truth and they don't believe him.

"I'm telling you the truth, I swear." Mion started to walk away. "Wait, Mion!"

"Don't follow me." She rasped. Matt stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of her voice. "Matt Ishida or Hiroku, you're a liar all the same. I don't want to see you again." She then showed him her gun. "If you ever approach me again, I won't think twice about using it." Then she stormed off, disappearing into the setting sun. Matt watched her leave; he lost his only friend here. He walked back inside and he waited for Alice to come out. When she did the chauffer driver turned up and helped her into the limo. Matt climbed in the back with her; it was uncomfortable for both of them. She had to lie across the back seats, and the seats left were the ones opposite her. She didn't look at him, or even acknowledge he was even there. Matt just hoped the morning could come quicker, because tomorrow was the day he was leaving for ombre Académie, Shadow Academy. The faster away he was from all this, the better, he thought.


	9. Without a Shadow of a doubt

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 9: Without a Shadow of a doubt **

The helicopter circled twice over Osokiuo Mansion before beginning its descent. It was a Robinson R44, four seater aircraft, American built. There was only one person the pilot-inside. George Hiroku had returned from Tomoeda, and he and his wife came outside to watch it land in front of the house. The engine noise died down and the rotors began to slow. The cabin door slid open, and the pilot got out, dressed in a one-piece leather flying suit, helmet, and goggles. The pilot walked up to them, extending a hand. "Good morning," she shouted over the noise of the rotors.

"I'm Mrs. Stenavich. From the academy. . ." If George Hiroku and Lady Christine had been thrown by their first sight of Matt, the appearance of the assistant director left them frozen to the spot. George Hiroku was the first to recover.

"You flew the helicopter yourself?"

"Yes ... I'm qualified," Mrs. Stenavich answered.

"Would you like to come in?" Lady Christine said. "Perhaps you'd like some tea." She led them into the house and into the living room, where Mrs. Stenavich sat, legs apart, her helmet on the sofa beside her. George Hiroku and Lady Christine sat opposite her. Tea had been brought in on a tray.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" Mrs. Stenavich asked. She reached into a pocket and took out a small packet of cigars without waiting for an answer. She lit one and blew smoke. "What a very beautiful house you have, Mr. Hiroku. Georgian, I would say, but decorated with such taste! And where, may I ask, is Matt?"

"He went for a walk," George Hiroku said.

"Perhaps he's a little nervous." She smiled again and took the teacup Lady Christine had proffered. "I understand that Matt has been a great source of concern to you." George Hiroku nodded. His eyes gave nothing away. For the next few minutes, he told Mrs. Stenavich about Matt, how he had been expelled from six private schools, the people he hangs around with, how out of control he had become. Lady Christine listened to all this in silence, occasionally holding her husband's arm.

"I'm at my wit's end," George Hiroku concluded. "We have an older daughter, and she's perfectly delightful. But Matt? He hangs around the house. He doesn't read. He doesn't show any interest in anything. His appearance ... well, you'll see for yourself. The Ombre Académie is our last resort, Mrs. Stenavich. We're desperately hoping you can straighten him out." The assistant director poked at the air with her cigar, leaving a grey trail.

"I'm sure you've been a marvellous father, Mr. Hiroku," she purred. "But these modern children! It's heartbreaking the way some of them behave. You've done the right thing, coming to us. As I'm sure you know, the academy has had a remarkable success rate over the years."

"What exactly do you do?" Lady Christine asked.

"We have our methods." The woman's eyes twinkled. She tapped ash into her saucer. "But I can promise you, we'll straighten out all his problems. Don't you worry! When he comes home, he'll be a completely different boy."

"Are you sure?" George Hiroku asked.

"Without a shadow of a doubt." She smiled.

Matt was in the centre of the small village of Hinamizawa when he heard the rotors overhead. He followed the helicopter to see where it was going, matt had guessed right it was heading for Osokiuo Mansion. He knew George Hiroku was home and the helicopter didn't belong to him so it must have been from the academy or someone to collect him. He made his way to a field where he would meet his "Gadget Specialist and Gadget dispenser." As his feet dragged along the dusty road he suddenly saw green grass either side. It seemed strange for the grass to be lush and so green but for the road to be dusty and dry. It was like the rain was only drawn to the grass and not the road. Up ahead he saw why the grass was so green. An old fashioned waterwheel was turning in the stream nearby. It was a single box house with a wheel turning. The water was churning as it went around and splashed onto the ground. He stopped suddenly. While he was taking in all his surroundings he didn't see who was standing by the water wheel, it was Mion Sonozaki. He remembered what she had said to him about approaching her again.

"_Don't follow me." She rasped. Matt stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of her voice. "Matt Ishida or Hiroku, you're a liar all the same. I don't want to see you again." She then showed him her gun. "If you ever approach me again, I won't think twice about using it."_

He went to turn away to find another path, he didn't want to get killed before his mission began.

"Where are you going?" Mion called out. She started to approach him, matt wanted to run but the sound of her footsteps she didn't want to hurt him she would have run faster and given him no warning if she did. He turned to face her, to his surprise she was smiling. Had yesterday's events been forgotten?

"Hey, Mion...you're not going to kill me are you?" he asked nervously. Mion looked at him bewildered.

"Why would I do that?" she asked.

"It's because I told you the truth yesterday and you thought I was lying." She smiled.

"Oh that. Well..." she began "Maybe I overreacted a little yesterday." Matt looked at her, her personality took a full 180 twist. "Maybe, a little she says" he thought to himself. But what came out was.

"Oh, ok. I just thought you didn't want to be my friend anymore."

"I would never say that." She smiled. As quickly as it came that smile disappeared, only to be replaced with a face of seriousness. "Be careful up in the mountains, danger lurks in shadows and even your shadow could be your greatest enemy." Matt stood there stunned, looking into the glazed eyes of Mion Sonozaki. She then smiled and said. "Don't worry you'll be fine." She waved goodbye and said a quick 'see ya later' before disappearing. This girl probably changed her personalities more than she did with her clothes. She seemed to be wearing the same thing as yesterday. Her choice in fashion, too bad he wasn't in his.

Matt had reached the edge of a field about a half mile from the house. He was replaying things in his mind, the shooting in the woods, the train tunnel and the clinic. But what stood out the most was the clinic, what kind of doctor's surgery has barbed wire fences. But that was a distraction, it was something else. Something about yesterday, what was it? He would figure it out sooner or later. When he saw the helicopter land he knew it was time to go. But he wasn't ready yet to leave. Mrs. Jensen had telephoned him the night before. Once again, JIN 7 wasn't going to send him empty-handed into what might be enemy territory.

He watched as a combine harvester rumbled slowly toward him, cutting a swathe through the grass. It jerked to a halt a short distance away, and the door of the cabin opened. A woman got out-with ease. She was so beautiful that matt gazed how incredible she looked, and how out of place she was. She rested one leg on the ladder and the other followed. She stood with her shoulders and head looking straight ahead. The woman was wearing a checked shirt and blue overalls-a farmer's outfit. But even if she'd had a straw hat and a blade of corn between her teeth, Matt could never have imagined her actually farming anything. She was out of place, like a super model at an ugly contest. The woman grinned at him.

"Hello, again matt!" she said cheerfully.

"Hello, again Mrs. Taylor," Matt replied. Samantha worked for JIN 7. She had supplied the various devices Matt had used on his last mission. "I hope these people haven't pushed you around, you know how rich people can be so snobby!" She exclaimed. She winked. "What do you think of the cover? I was told to blend in with the countryside."

"The combine harvester's a great idea," Matt said. "Except, this is April. There isn't anything to Harvest."

"I hadn't thought of that!" Samantha beamed. "The trouble is, it's been a while since I was in the field. In the field!" She looked around her and laughed, matt smiled and shook his head. That was the thing about Samantha she always seemed in a good mood when he was around her. "Anyway, I'm glad you're ok to tell you the truth I was worried. This time around matt-it's been tricky to think up a few bits and pieces for you. It's not often my company gets used in helping agents with JIN 7, epically a teenager. " She reached into the cabin and pulled out a suitcase. "I have surprise for you, from Madison." she went on. "But first the gadgets."

"Have you got another Nintendo Game Boy?" Matt asked.

"No. That's just it. The school doesn't allow Game Boys-or any computers at all, for that matter. They supply their own laptops. I could have hidden a dozen gadgets inside a laptop, but there you are! Now, let's see. . . ." She opened the case. "I'm told there's still a lot of snow up at Ombre Académie so you'll need this."

"A ski suit," Matt said. That was what Samantha was holding.

"Yes. But it's highly insulated and also bulletproof." She pulled out a pair of green-tinted goggles. "These are ski goggles. But in case you have to go anywhere at night, they're actually infrared. There's a battery concealed in the frame. Just press the switch and you'll be able to see about twenty yards, even if there's no moon. Madison was working day and night for the past week on them. She wants to make sure your safe." Matt smiled, now that Madison knew his secret she was able to help him. Samantha reached into the case a second time. "Now, what else would a boy of your age have with him? Fortunately, you're allowed to take a Sony Discman, provided all the CDs are classical." She handed Matt the machine.

"So while people are shooting at me in the middle of the night, I get to listen to music," Matt said.

"Absolutely. Only don't play the Mozart!" Samantha held up the disc. "The Discman converts into an electric saw. The CD is diamond-edged. It'll cut through just about anything-useful if you need to get out in a hurry. There's also a panic button I've built in. If you're in real trouble and you need help, just press the stop button three times. It'll send out a signal that our satellite will pick up. And then we can stop your operation!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Taylor," Matt said, but he was disappointed and it showed. Samantha understood

"I know what you want," She said. "But you know you can't have it. No guns! Mr. Ooishi is adamant. He thinks you're too young."

"Not too young to get killed, though."

"I know. So I've given it a bit of thought and rustled up a couple of ... defensive measures, so to speak. This is just between you and me, you understand. I'm not sure Mr. Ooishi would approve." She held out a hand. A gold ear stud lay in two pieces in the middle of her palm: a diamond shape for the front and a catch to hold it at the back. The stud looked tiny in her soft elegant hands. "I saw Madison decided on the full rebel look, so I made you this," She said. "Be very careful after you've put it in. Bringing the two pieces together will activate it."

"Activate what?" Said matt as he put it in. Matt looked doubtful.

"The ear stud is actually a small but very powerful explosive device. Like a miniature grenade." Matt froze in horror, but Samantha smiled. "Don't worry. Separating the two pieces again will set it off, it's fine as long as it stays in your ear." As she put her suitcase back in the combine harvester she then told matt. "Count to ten and it'll blow a hole in just about anything ... or anyone, I should add."

"Just so long as it doesn't blow off my ear," Matt muttered.

"Don't get so worked up Matt, you know I would never let one of my gadgets harm you, I test them one hundred times." Samantha smiled. "And finally, I'm very pleased with this. It's exactly what you'd expect to find in a young boy's luggage, and I designed it especially for you." She had produced a book from the cabin. Matt took it. It was a hardcover edition of Great Expectations by Charles Dickens.

"Thanks," he said. "But I've already read it."

"This is a special edition. There's a gun built into the spine, and the chamber is loaded with a stun dart. Just point it and press the author's name. It'll knock out an adult in less than five seconds." Matt smiled. Samantha climbed back into the combine harvester. For a moment she seemed to have hesitated like she was saying goodbye to matt, but then she climbed in and shut the door. She then rolled down the window and shouted over the roar of the engine.

"Good luck, Matt," She said. "Come back in one piece! You must come around for tea with us again!" matt nodded. The combine harvester was leaving, almost on instinct he placed the gadgets down and ran by the side of it and shouted back to her.

"Tell Madison I said thanks for the ski suit, Mrs. Taylor."

"Sure matt." She smiled. "And please," she added. "Don't be afraid to call me Samantha." As matt stopped running and continued to wave to her, she caught one last glimpse of him in her side mirrors. She then took out a handkerchief and wiped a tear from her eye, in the corner a red mark was there, the same lipstick as Madison's. And just like that she was gone.

It was time to go.

Matt's luggage was being loaded into the helicopter, and he was standing next to his new parents, clutching the Great Expectations book. Eva Stenavich was waiting for him underneath the rotors. He had been shocked by her appearance, and at first he had tried to hide it. But then he'd relaxed. He didn't have to be polite. Matt Ishida might have good manners, but Matt Hiroku wouldn't give a fuck what she thought. He glanced at her scornfully now and noticed that she was watching him carefully as he said good-bye. Once again, George Hiroku acted his part perfectly. "Good-bye, Matt," he said. "You will write to us and let us know you're okay?"

"If you want," Matt said. Lady Christine moved forward and kissed him. Matt backed away from her as if embarrassed, otherwise he'd probably let her. It's been a long time since he was kissed by his mother. A shadow of a memory, that's all she was now. Although he had to admit that if she was here she would look exactly the same as Christine Hiroku did now, she looked genuinely sad. But it was all for show matt thought.

"Come, Matt!" Mrs. Stenavich was in a hurry to get away. She had told him that the helicopter had a range of only four hundred miles they would have to land at the city airport, then from Kenobi airport they would take the private jet to Rome, where another helicopter would take them all the way to Ombre Académie. And then Alice appeared, crossing the grass toward them. Matt hadn't spoken to her since the business at the tunnel. Nor had she spoken to him. He had rejected her, and he knew she would never forgive him. She hadn't come down to breakfast this morning, and he'd assumed she wouldn't show herself again until he'd gone. So what was she doing here now? Suddenly Matt knew. She'd come to cause trouble-one last jab below the belt. He could see it in her eyes and in the way she flounced across the lawn with her hands rolled into fists. Alice didn't know he was a spy. But she must know that he was here for a reason, and she had probably guessed it had something to do with the woman from Ombre Académie. So she had decided to come out and spoil things for him. Maybe she was going to ask questions. Maybe she was going to give Mrs. Stenavich a piece of her mind. Either way, Matt knew that his mission would be over before it had even begun. All his work memorizing the files and all the time he had spent with the family would have been for nothing.

"Alice . . ." George Hiroku muttered. His eyes were grave. He had come to the same conclusion as Matt. She ignored him.

"Are you from the academy?" she asked, speaking directly to Mrs. Stenavich.

"Yes, my dear."

"Well, I think there's something you should know." There was only one thing Matt could do. He lifted the Great Expectations book and pointed it at Alice, then pressed the spine once, hard. There was no noise, but he felt the book shudder in his hand. Alice put her hand to the side of her leg. All the colour drained out of her face. She crumpled to the grass. Lady Christine ran to her. Mrs. Stenavich looked puzzled. Matt turned to her, his face blank. "That's my sister," he said. "She gets very emotional, it can be really annoying." Two minutes later, the helicopter took off. Matt watched through the window as Osokiuo Mansion got smaller and smaller and then disappeared behind them. He looked at Mrs. Stenavich, hunched over the controls, her eyes hidden by her goggles. He eased himself into his chair and let himself be carried away into the darkening sky. Then the clouds rolled in. The countryside was gone. So was his only weapon. Matt was on his own.


	10. Shadow 13

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows**

**Chapter 10: Shadow 13 **

It was raining in Rome. The city looked tired and disappointed; the coliseum looked like a giant bath plug as it tried to drain all the water out of the city. There was nobody sitting at the tables outside the cafes, and for once the little kiosks selling paintings and postcards were being ignored by the tourists, who were hurrying back to their hotels. It was five o'clock in the afternoon and the evening was drawing in, unnoticed. The shops and offices were emptying, but the city didn't care. It just wanted to be left alone. The plane had landed in a private area of The Ciampino Airport, and a car had been waiting to drive them in. Matt had said nothing during the flight and now he sat on his own in the back, watching the buildings flash by. They were following the road towards the centre of Rome, moving surprisingly fast along a wide, two-lane road that dipped above and below the water level. Their route took them past the coliseum. Then they turned off, weaving their way through a series of back streets with smaller restaurants and boutiques fighting for space on the pavements. "Welcome to Roma," Mrs. Stenavich said to Matt, pointing out the window. He pretended to show no interest. In fact, he had stayed in Rome once with his father and knew it as one of the most sophisticated and expensive places in the world. The car turned into a large square and stopped. Matt glanced out the window.

He was surrounded on four sides by the tall, classical churches for which Rome is famous for. But the square had been disfigured by a single modern hotel. It was a black, rectangular block, the windows fitted with dark glass that allowed no view inside. It rose up four floors with a flat roof and the name HOTEL DEL MONDO OSCURO in red and black letters above the main door. If a spaceship had landed in the square, crushing a couple of buildings to make room for itself, it couldn't have looked more out of place. "This is where we're staying," Mrs. Stenavich said. "The hotel is owned by the academy." The driver took their cases out of the trunk. Matt followed the assistant director toward the entrance, the door sliding open automatically to allow them in.

The lobby was cold and faceless, white marble and mirrors with a single potted plant tucked into a corner as an afterthought. There was a small reception desk with an unsmiling male receptionist in a dark suit and glasses, a computer, and a row of pigeonholes. Matt counted them. There were fifteen. Presumably, the hotel had fifteen rooms.

"Buonasera, signora Stenavich." The receptionist nodded his head slightly. He ignored Matt. "I hope you had a good journey from Japan," he then continued, but only in Italian. Matt gazed blankly, as if he hadn't understood a word. Matt Hiroku wouldn't speak Italian. He wouldn't have bothered to learn. Unfortunately for matt it was also one of the languages his father didn't teach him. But judging how close they were speaking together, it looked like they were talking about him. The receptionist took down two keys. He didn't ask either of them to sign in. He didn't ask for a credit card. The school owned the hotel, so there would be no bill when they left. He gave Matt one of the keys. "I hope you're not superstitious," he said, speaking in English now.

"No," Matt replied.

"It is room thirteen. On the first floor. I am sure you will find it most agreeable." The receptionist smiled. Mrs. Stenavich took her key.

"The hotel has its own restaurant," she said. Her voice was gravelly and strangely masculine. Her breath smelled of cigar smoke. "We might as well eat here tonight. We don't want to go out in the rain. Anyway, the food here is excellent. Do you like Italian food, Matt?"

"Not much," Matt said. "Well I'm sure we'll find something that you like. Why don't you freshen up after the journey?" She looked at her watch. "We'll eat at seven-an hour and a half from now. It will give us an opportunity to talk together. Might I suggest, perhaps, some neater clothes for dinner? The Italian's are informal, but if you'll forgive me saying so, my dear, you take informality a little far. I'll call you at five to seven. I hope the room is all right."

Room 13 was at the end of a long, narrow corridor. The door opened into a surprisingly large space, with views over the square. There was a double bed with a black-and-white comforter, a television and minibar, a desk, and, on the wall, a couple of framed pictures of Rome. A porter had carried up Matt's suitcase, and as soon as he was gone, Matt kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed. He wondered why they had come here. He knew the plane had needed refuelling, and helicopter would take them the rest of the way, but that shouldn't have necessitated an overnight stop. Why not fly on straight to the school? He had more than an hour to kill. First he went into the bathroom-more glass and white marble-and took a long shower. Then, wrapped in a towel, he went back into the room and turned on the television. Matt Hiroku would watch a lot of television. There were about thirty channels to choose from. Matt skipped past the Italian speaking ones and stopped on MTV. He wondered if he was being monitored. There was a large mirror next to the desk, and it would be easy enough to conceal a camera behind it. Well, why not give them something to think about? He opened the minibar and poured himself a glass of gin. Then he went into the bathroom, refilled the bottle with water, and put it back in the fridge. Drinking alcohol and stealing! If she was watching, signora Stenavich would know that she had her hands full with him.

He spent the next forty minutes watching television and pretending to drink the gin. Then he took the glass into the bathroom and dumped it in the sink. It was time to get dressed. Should he do what he was told and put on neater clothes? In the end, he compromised. He put on a new shirt, but kept the same jeans. A moment later, the telephone rang. His call for dinner. Mrs. Stenavich was waiting for him in the restaurant, a large, airless room in the basement. Soft lighting and mirrors had been used to make it feel more spacious, but it was still the last place Matt would have chosen. The restaurant could have been anywhere, in any part of the world. There were two other diners-businessmen, from the looks of them-but otherwise they were alone. That was strange as he looked around, all the keys apart from two- his and Mrs. Stenavich's- were all booked out...so where was everybody else. Mrs. Stenavich had changed into a black evening dress with feathers at the collar, and she had an antique necklace of black and silver beads. The fancier her clothes, Matt thought, the uglier she looked. She was smoking another cigar.

"Ah, Matt!" She blew smoke. "Did you have a rest? Or did you watch TV?" Matt didn't say anything. He sat down and opened the menu, then closed it again when he saw that it was all in Italian. "You must let me order for you. Some soup to start, perhaps? And then some pasta with meat. I've never yet met a boy who doesn't like meat."

"My cousin Benny is a vegetarian," Matt said. It was something he had read in one of the files. The assistant director nodded as if she already knew this.

"Then he doesn't know what he is missing," she said. A pale faced waiter came over and she placed the order in Italian. "What will you drink?" she asked.

"I'll have a Coke."

"A repulsive drink, I've always thought. I have never understood the taste. But of course, you shall have what you want." The waiter brought a Coke for Matt and a glass of champagne for Mrs. Stenavich. Matt watched the bubbles rising in the two glasses, his black, hers a pale yellow. For a moment he thought these drinks represented their souls, hers gold and transparent his dark and mysterious "Per la buona salute" she said.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's Italian, for good health."

"Oh. Cheers . . ." There was a moment's silence. The woman's eyes were fixed on him as if she could see right through him.

"So you were at sorobokoura," she said casually.

"That's right." Matt was suddenly on his guard.

"What house were you in?"

"The Simbourogh." It was the name of a real house at the school. Matt had read the file carefully.

"I visited sorobokoura once I remember a statue I think it was of a Shogun. It was just through the main gate..." She was testing him. Matt was sure of it. Did she suspect him? Or was it simply a precaution, something she always did?

"You're talking about Hōjō Takatoki," he said. "His statue's in the Schools Yard. He founded sorobokoura."

"But you didn't like it there."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I didn't like the uniform and I didn't like the Turks." Matt was careful not to use the word teachers. At sorobokoura, they're known as Turks. He half smiled to himself. If she wanted a bit of soro-speak, he'd give it to her. "And I didn't like the rules. Getting fined by the poroks. Or being put in the Tardy Book. I was always getting fifived and Ingoes ... or being put on the scroll. The Bing Ja's were boring . . ."

"I'm afraid I don't really understand a word you're saying."

"Bing ja's are lessons," Matt explained. "Fifived is when your work is no good."

"I see!" She drew a line with her cigar. "Is that why you set fire to the library?"

"No," Matt said. "That was just because I don't like books." The first course arrived. Matt's soup was pale red and had something floating in it. He picked up his spoon and poked at it suspiciously. "What's this?" he demanded.

"Pasta e fagioli." He looked at her blankly. "Pasta and dried bean soup. I hope you enjoy it."

"I'd have preferred tomato and basil," Matt said. The second course arrived and Mrs. Stenavich told him it was _spaghetti all' amatriciana_, spaghetti with bacon and onion, it was typically Italian: lots of tomatoes and herbs. Matt took a couple of mouthfuls of the food, then threw down his spoon and fork and used his fingers to eat all the bacon and onions before finishing. His leather fingerless gloves were coated in tomato sauce. Mrs. Stenavich talked to him about the French Alps, about skiing, and about her visits to various European cities. It was easy to look bored. He was bored. And he was beginning to feel tired. He took a sip of Coke, hoping the cold drink would wake him up, but the more he drank the more tired he was becoming. The meal seemed to be dragging on all night. But at last the desserts-a delicious mixture of soft lady fingers soaked in coffee and mascarpone cheese, with a name that translated as "pick me up"-Tiramisu, had come and gone. Matt declined coffee.

"You're looking tired," Mrs. Stenavich said. She lit another cigar. The smoke curled around her head and made him feel dizzy. "Would you like to go to bed?"

"Yes."

"We don't need to leave until midday tomorrow. You'll have time for a visit to The Pantheon, if you'd like that." Matt shook his head.

"Actually, places like that, bore me."

"Really? What a shame!" Matt stood up. Somehow his hand knocked into his glass, spilling the rest of the Coke over the pristine white tablecloth. What was the matter with him? Suddenly he was exhausted. "Would you like me to come up with you, Matt?" the woman asked. She was looking carefully at him, a tiny glimmer of interest in her otherwise dead eyes.

"No. I'll be all right." Matt stepped away. "Good night." Getting upstairs was an ordeal. He was tempted to take the elevator, but he didn't want to lock himself into that small, windowless cubicle. He would have felt suffocated. He climbed the stairs, his shoulders resting heavily against the wall. Then he stumbled down the corridor and somehow got his key into the lock. His vision was becoming blurrier. When he finally got inside, the room was spinning. What was going on? Had he drunk more of the gin than he had intended, or was he ...? Matt swallowed. He had been drugged. There had been something in the Coke. It was still on his tongue, a sort of bitterness. There were only three steps between him and his bed, but it could have been a mile away. His legs wouldn't obey him anymore. Just lifting one foot took all his strength. He fell forward, reaching out with his arms. Somehow he managed to propel himself far enough. His chest and shoulders hit the bed, sinking into the mattress. The room was spinning around him, faster and faster. He tried to stand up, tried to speak-but nothing came. His eyes closed. Gratefully, he allowed the darkness to take him. He was still sitting with his upper body on the bed and his lower half on the floor.

Thirty minutes later, there was a soft click and the room began to change. If Matt had been able to open his eyes, he would have seen the desk, the minibar, and the framed pictures of Rome begin to rise up the wall. Or so it might have seemed to him. But in fact the walls weren't moving. It was the floor that was sinking downward on hidden hydraulics, taking the room-with Matt half on the bed, half on the floor-into the depths of the hotel. The entire room was nothing more than a huge elevator that carried him, one inch at a time, into the basement and beyond. Now the walls were metal sheets. He had left the wallpaper, the lights, and the pictures high above him. He was dropping through what might have been a ventilation shaft with four steel rods guiding him to the bottom. Brilliant lights suddenly flooded over him. There was a soft click. He had arrived. The bed had come to rest in the centre of a gleaming underground clinic. Scientific equipment crowded in on him from all sides. There were a number of cameras: digital, video, infrared, and X-ray. There were instruments of all shapes and sizes, most of them unrecognizable to anyone without a science degree. A tangle of wires spiralled out from each machine to a bank of computers that hummed and blinked on a long worktable against one of the walls. A glass window had been cut into the wall on the other side.

The room was air-conditioned. Had Matt been awake, he might have shivered in the cold. His breath appeared as a faint white cloud, hovering around his mouth. A plump man wearing a white coat and a big yellow bow tie had been waiting to receive him. The man, who was about forty, had yellow hair that he had slicked back, and a face that was rapidly sinking into middle age, with puffy cheeks and a thick, fatty neck. The man had glasses and a small moustache. Two assistants were with him, also wearing white coats. Their faces were blank. The three of them set to work at once. Handling Matt as if he were a sack of vegetables-or a corpse. They picked him up and stripped off all his clothes. Then they began to photograph him, beginning with a conventional camera. Starting at his toes, they moved upward, clicking off at least a hundred pictures, the flash igniting and the film automatically advancing. Not one inch of his body escaped their examination. A lock of his hair was snipped off and put into a plastic envelope. An ophthalmoscope was used to produce a perfect image of the back of his eye. They made a mould of his teeth, slipping a piece of putty into his mouth and manipulating his chin to make him bite down.

They made a careful note of the birthmark on his left shoulder the scar on his arm, and even the ends of his fingers. Matt's nails were strong; he never bit them; that was recorded too. Finally, they weighed him on a large, flat scale and then measured him-his height, chest size, waist, inside leg, hand size, and so on-making a note in their books of every measurement. And all the time, Mrs. Stenavich watched from the other side of the window. She never moved. The only sign of life anywhere in her face was the cigar, clamped between her lips. It glowed red, and the smoke trickled up. The three men had finished. The one with the yellow hair spoke into a microphone.

"We're all finished," he said.

"Give me your opinion, Mr. Stockman." The woman's voice echoed out of a speaker concealed behind the wall.

"It's a cinch." The man called Baxter Stockman was English. He spoke with an upper-class accent, and he was obviously pleased with himself. "He's got a good bone structure. Very fit. Interesting face. You notice the pierced ear? He's had that done recently. Nothing else to say, really."

"When will you operate?"

"Whenever you say, old girl. Just let me know." Mrs. Stenavich turned to the other two men.

"Envoyer ceux-ci!" She snapped the words. The two assistants put Matt's clothes back on him. This took longer than taking them off. As they worked, they made a careful note of all the brand names. The Quicksilver T-shirt. The Gap socks. By the time they had dressed him, they knew as much about him as a doctor knows about a newborn baby. It had all been noted down. Mr. Baxter Stockman walked over to the worktable and pressed a button. At once, the carpet, bed, and hotel furniture began to rise up. They disappeared through the ceiling and kept going. Matt slept on as he was carried back through the shaft, finally arriving in the space that he knew as room 13. There was nothing to show what had happened. The whole experience had evaporated, as quickly as a dream. He laid on the bed and would not remembering anything or how he managed to get on to the bed, everything happened in the shadows of Room 13.


	11. Sorrow by name

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 11: Sorrow by name**

The Ombre Académie was built by a lunatic. For a time it had been used as an asylum. Matt remembered what Korindo Ooishi had told him as the helicopter began its final descent, the red and white helipad looming up to receive it. The photograph in the brochure had been artfully taken. Now that he could see the building for himself, he could only describe it as ... crazy. It was a jumble of towers and battlements, green sloping roofs and windows of every shape and size. Nothing fitted together properly. The overall design should have been simple enough: a circular central area with two wings. But one wing was longer than the other. The two sides didn't match. The academy was four floors high, but the windows were spaced in such a way that it was hard to tell where one floor ended and the next began. There was an internal courtyard that wasn't quite square, with a fountain that had frozen solid. Even the helipad, jutting out of the roof, was ugly and awkward, as if someone had thrown a giant Frisbee that had smashed into the brickwork and lodged in place. Mrs. Stenavich flicked off the controls.

"I will take you down to meet the director," she shouted over the noise of the blades. "Your luggage will be brought down later." It was cold on the roof. Although it was almost the end of April, the snow covering the mountain still hadn't melted and everything was white for as far as the eye could see. The academy was built into the side of a steep slope. A little farther down, Matt saw a big iron tongue that started at ground level but then curved outward as the mountainside dropped away. It was a ski jump-the sort of thing he had seen at the winter Olympics. The end of the curve was at least fifty feet above the ground, and far below, Matt could make out a flat area, shaped like a horseshoe, where the jumpers were meant to land. He was staring at it, imagining what it would be like to propel yourself into space with only two skis to break your fall, when the woman grabbed his arm. "We don't use it," she said. "It is forbidden. Come now! Let's get out of the cold." They went through a door in the side of one of the towers and down a narrow spiral staircase (each step a different distance apart) Mrs. Stenavich warned Matt "Mind the step." As Matt looked at them he replied.

"Which one?" The stair case took them all the way to the ground floor. Now they were in a long, narrow corridor with plenty of doors but no windows.

"Classrooms," Mrs. Stenavich explained. "You will see them later." Matt followed her through the strangely silent building. The central heating had been turned up high inside the academy, and the atmosphere was warm and heavy. They stopped at a pair of modern glass doors that opened into the courtyard Matt had seen from above. From the heat back into the cold again, Mrs. Stenavich led him through the doors and past the frozen fountain. A movement caught his eye, and Matt glanced up. This was something he hadn't noticed before. A sentry stood on one of the towers. He had a pair of binoculars around his neck and a submachine gun slung across one arm. Armed guards? In a school? Matt had been here only a few minutes and already he was unnerved. "Through here!" Mrs. Stenavich opened another door for him, and he found himself in the main reception hall of the academy. A log fire burned in a massive fireplace with two stone dragons guarding the flames. A grand staircase led upward. The hall was lit by a chandelier with at least a hundred bulbs. The walls were panelled with wood. The carpet was thick, dark red. A dozen pairs of eyes followed Matt as he followed Mrs. Stenavich down the next corridor. The hall was decorated with animal heads: a rhino, an antelope, a water buffalo, and, saddest of all, a lion. Matt wondered who had shot them. They came to a single door that suggested they had come to the end of their journey. So far, Matt hadn't encountered any boys, but glancing out of the window, he saw two more guards marching slowly past, both of them cradling automatic machine guns.

Mrs. Stenavich knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Even with just two words, Matt caught the South African accent. The door opened, and they went into a huge room that made no sense. Like the rest of the building, its shape was irregular, none of the walls running parallel. The ceiling was about fifty feet high with windows running the whole, way and giving an impressive view of the slopes. The room was modern with soft lighting coming from units concealed in the walls. The furniture was ugly, but not as ugly as the animal heads on the walls and the zebra skin on the wood floor. There were three chairs next to a small fireplace. One of them was gold and antique. A man was sitting in it. His head turned as Matt came in.

"Good afternoon, Matt," he said. "Please come and sit down." Matt sauntered into the room and took one of the chairs. Mrs. Stenavich sat in the other. "My name is Sorrow," the man continued. "Dr. Sorrow. I am very pleased to meet you and to have you here." Matt stared at the man who was the director of Ombre Académie, at the white-paper skin and the eyes burning behind the red eye glasses. It was like meeting a skeleton, and for a moment he was lost for words. Then he recovered.

"Nice place," he said.

"Do you think so?" There was no emotion whatsoever in Sorrow's voice. So far he had moved only his neck. "This building was designed in 1862 by a Frenchman who was certainly the world's worst architect. This was his only commission. When the first owners moved in, they had him shot."

"There are still quite a few people here with guns." Matt glanced out of the window as another pair of guards walked past.

"Ombre Académie is unique," Dr. Sorrow explained. "As you will soon discover, all the boys who have been sent here come from families of great wealth and importance. We have had the sons of emperors and industrialists. Boys like you. It follows that we could very easily become a target for terrorists. The guards are therefore here for your protection."

"That's very kind of you." Matt felt he was being too polite. It was time to show this man what sort of person he was meant to be. "But to be honest, I don't really want to be here myself. So if you'll just tell me how I get down into town, maybe I can get the next train to the airport and go home."

"There is no way down into town." Dr. Sorrow lifted a hand to stop Matt from interrupting. Matt glanced at his long skeletal fingers and at the eyes glinting red behind the glasses. The man moved as if every bone in his body had been broken and then put back together again. "The skiing season is over. It's too dangerous now. There is only the helicopter, and that will take you from here only when I say so." The hand lowered itself again. "You are here, Matt, because you have disappointed your parents. You were expelled from six schools. You have had difficulties with the police."

"That wasn't my bloody fault!" Matt protested.

"Don't interrupt the doctor!" Mrs. Stenavich said. Matt glanced at her balefully.

"Your appearance is displeasing," Dr. Sorrow went on. "Your language also. It is our job to turn you into a boy of whom your parents can be proud of."

"I'm happy as I am," Matt said.

"That is of no relevance." Dr. Sorrow fell silent. Matt shivered. There was something about this room, so big, so empty, so twisted out of shape. And this man who was both old and young at the same time but who somehow wasn't completely human.

"So what are you going to do with me?" Matt asked.

"There will be no lessons to begin with," Mrs. Stenavich said. "For the first couple of weeks we want you to assimilate."

"What does that mean?"

"To assimilate. To conform ... to adapt ... to become like." It was as if she were reading out of a dictionary. "There are six boys at the academy at the moment. You will meet them and you will spend time with them. There will be opportunities for sports and for being social. There is a good library here, and you will read. Soon you will learn our methods."

"I want to call my mom and dad," Matt said.

"The use of telephones is forbidden," Mrs. Stenavich explained. She tried to smile sympathetically, but with her face it wasn't quite possible. "We find it makes our students homesick," she went on. "Of course, you may write letters if you wish."

"I prefer e-mail," Matt said.

"For the same reason, e-mail is not permitted." Matt shrugged.

"Up yours!" he swore under his breath. Dr. Sorrow had seen him.

"You will be polite to the assistant director," he snapped. He hadn't raised his voice, but the words had an acid tone. "You should be aware, Matt, that Mrs. Stenavich has worked with me now for twenty-six years and that when I met her she had been voted Miss South Africa five years in a row." Matt glanced at the hostile face.

"A beauty contest? You're having a laugh."

"The weight-lifting championships." Dr. Sorrow glanced at the fireplace. "Show him," he said. Mrs Stenavich got up and went over to the fireplace. There was a poker lying in the grate. She took it with both hands. For a moment she seemed to concentrate. Matt gasped. The solid metal poker, almost two inches thick, was slowly bending. Now it was U-shaped. Mrs. Stenavich wasn't even sweating. She brought the two ends together and dropped it back into the grate. It clanged against the stone. "We enforce strict discipline here at the academy," Dr. Sorrow said. "Bedtime is at ten o'clock-not a minute past. We do not tolerate bad language. You will have no contact with the outside world without our permission. You will not attempt to leave. And you will do as you are told instantly, without hesitation. And finally..." He leaned toward Matt. "You are permitted only in certain parts of this building." He gestured with a hand, and for the first time Matt noticed a second door at the far end of the room. "My private quarters are through there. You will remain on the first and second floors only. That is where the bedrooms and classrooms are located. The third and fourth floors are out of bounds. The basement also. This again is for your safety."

"You're afraid I'll trip on the stairs?" Matt asked. Dr. Sorrow ignored him.

"You may leave," he said.

"Wait outside the office, Matt," Mrs. Stenavich said. "Someone will be along to get you." Matt stood up.

"We will make you into what your parents want," Dr. Sorrow said.

"Maybe they don't want me at all."

"We can arrange that too." Matt left.

"An unpleasant boy . . . a few days . . . faster than usual ... the Shadow Project ... closing down. . ." If the door hadn't been so thick, Matt would have been able to hear more. The moment he had left the room he had cupped his ear against the keyhole, hoping to pick up something that might be useful to JIN 7. Sure enough, Dr. Sorrow and Mrs. Stenavich were busily talking on the other side, but Matt heard little and understood less. A hand clamped down on his shoulder suddenly and he twisted around, annoyed with himself. A so-called spy caught listening at keyholes! But it wasn't one of the guards. Matt found himself looking up at a round-faced boy with long, dark hair, dark blue eyes, and pale skin. He was wearing a very old Star Trek T-shirt, torn jeans, and a baseball cap. Recently he had been in a fight, and it looked like he'd gotten the worst of it. There was a bruise around one of his eyes and a gash on his lip.

"They'll shoot you if they catch you listening at doors," the boy said. He looked at Matt with hostile eyes. Matt guessed that he was the sort of boy who wouldn't trust anyone easily. "I'm Jamie Spurtz," he said. "They told me to show you around."

"Matt Hiroku."

"So what did you do to get sent to this dump?" Jamie asked as they walked down the corridor.

"I got expelled from six schools."

"I got thrown out of a school in Munich." Jamie sighed. "I thought it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Until my dad sent me here."

"What does your dad do?" Matt asked.

"He's a banker. He plays the money markets. He loves money and he has lots of it." Jamie's voice was flat and unemotional.

"Alec Spurtz?" Matt remembered the name. He'd made the front page of every newspaper in The world a few years before. The hundred - million- dollar man. That was how much he had made in just twenty-four hours. At the same time, the pound had crashed and the British government had almost collapsed. But the Yen was strong that year.

"Yeah. Don't ask me to show you a photograph, because I don't have one. This way. . ." They had reached the main hall with the dragon fireplace. From here, Jamie showed him into the dining room, a long, high-ceilinged room with six tables and a window leading into the kitchen. After that, they visited two living rooms, a games room, and a library. The academy reminded Matt of a ski resort-and not just because of its setting. There was a sort of heaviness about the place, a sense of being cut off from the -real world. The air was warm and silent, and despite the size of the rooms, Matt couldn't help feeling claustrophobic. Sorrow had said that there were only six boys currently at the school. The building could have housed sixty. Empty space was was nobody in either of the living rooms-just a collection of armchairs, desks, and tables-but they found a couple of boys in the library. This was a long, narrow room with old-fashioned oak shelves lined with books in a variety of languages. A suit of medieval Swiss armour stood in an alcove at the far end.

"This is Jacco. And Aidan," Jamie said. "They're probably doing extra math or something, so we'd better not disturb them." The two boys looked up and nodded briefly. One of them was reading a textbook. The other had been writing. They were both much better dressed than Jamie and didn't look very friendly. "Creeps," Jamie said as soon as they had left the room.

"In what way?"

"When I was told about this place, they said all the kids had problems. I thought it was going to be wild. Do you have a cigarette?"

"I don't smoke."

"Great, another one... I get here and it's like a museum or a monastery or ... I don't know what. It looks like Dr. Sorrow's been busy. Everyone's quiet, hardworking, boring. God knows how he did it. Sucked their brains out with a straw or something. A couple of weeks ago I got into a fight with a couple of them, just for the hell of it." He pointed to his face. "They beat the crap out of me and then went back to their studies. Really creepy!" They went into the games room, which contained table tennis, darts, a wide-screen TV, and a snooker table. "Don't try playing snooker," Jamie said. "The room's on a slant and all the balls toll the wrong way." Then they went upstairs, where the boys had their study bedrooms. Each one contained a bed, an armchair, a television ("It shows only the programs Dr. Sorrow wants you to see," Jamie said,) a bureau, and a desk. A second door led into a small bathroom with a toilet and shower. None of the rooms was locked. "We're not allowed to lock them," Jamie explained. "We're all stuck here with nowhere to go, so nobody bothers to steal anything. I heard that Jacco Van Dijk -the boy in the library-used to steal anything he could get his hands on. He was arrested for shoplifting in Amsterdam."

"But not anymore?"

"He's another success story. He's flying home next week. His father owns diamond mines. Why bother shoplifting when you can afford to buy the whole shop?" Matt's study was at the end of the corridor, with views over the ski jump. His suitcases had already been carried up and were waiting for him on the bed. Everything felt very bare, but according to Jamie, the study-bedrooms were the only part of the school the boys were allowed to decorate themselves. They could choose their own bedspreads and cover the walls with their own posters. "They say it's important that you express yourself", Jamie said. "If you haven't brought anything with you, Miss Stinkawitch will take you into Grenoble."

"Stinkawitch?" Matt smiled

"Mrs. Stenavich. That's my name for her."

"What do the other boys call her?"

"They call her Mrs. Stenavich." Jamie sighed. "I'm telling you-this is a deeply weird place, Matt. I've been to a lot of schools because I've been thrown out of a lot of schools. But this one is the pits. I've been here for six weeks now and I've hardly had any lessons. They have music evenings and discussion evenings and they try to get me to read. But otherwise, I've been left on my own."

"They want you to assimilate," Matt said, remembering what Dr. Sorrow had said.

"That's their word for it. But this place ... they may call it a school, but it's more like being in prison. You've seen the guards."

"I thought they were here to protect us."

"If you think that, you're a bigger idiot than I thought. Think about it! There are about thirty of them. Thirty armed guards for seven kids? That's not protection. That's intimidation." Jamie paused by the door. He examined Matt for a second time. "It would be nice to think that someone has finally arrived who I can relate to," he said,

"Maybe you can," Matt said extending his hand towards him. Jamie brushed it aside.

"Yeah. But for how long?" Jamie left, closing the door behind him. Matt began to unpack. The bulletproof ski suit and infrared goggles were at the top of the first suitcase. It didn't look as if he would be needing them. It wasn't as if he even had any skis. Then came the Discman. He remembered the instructions Samantha had given him. "If you're in real trouble, just press stop three times." He was almost tempted to do it now. There was something unsettling about the academy. He could feel it even now, in his room. He was like a goldfish in a bowl. Looking up, he almost expected to see a pair of huge eyes looming over him, and he knew that they would be wearing red-tinted glasses. He weighed the Discman in his hand. He couldn't hit the panic had nothing to report back to JIN 7.

There was nothing to connect the school with the deaths of the two men in New York and the Black Sea. But if there was anything, he knew where he would find it. Why were two whole floors of the building out of bounds? It made no sense at all. Presumably the guards slept up there, but even though Dr. Sorrow seemed to employ a small army, that would still leave a lot of empty rooms. The third and fourth floors. If something was going on at the academy, it had to be going on up there. A bell sounded downstairs. Matt shut his suitcase, left his room, and walked down the corridor. He saw another couple of boys walking ahead of him, talking quietly together. Like the boys he had seen in the library, they were clean and well dressed with hair cut short and neatly groomed. Really creepy, Jamie had said. Even on first sight, Matt had to agree. He reached the main staircase. The two boys had gone down. Matt glanced in their direction, and then went up.

The staircase turned a corner and stopped. Ahead of him was a sheet of metal that rose up from the floor to the ceiling and all the way across, blocking off the view. The wall had been added recently, like the helipad. Someone had carefully and deliberately cut the building in two. There was a door set in the metal wall and beside it a keypad with nine buttons demanding a code. Matt reached for the door handle, his hand closing around it. He didn't expect the door to open-nor did he expect what happened next. The moment his fingers came into contact with the handle, an alarm went off, a shrieking siren that echoed throughout the building. A few seconds later, he heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to find two guards facing him, their guns half raised. Neither of them spoke. One of them ran past him and punched a code into the keypad. The alarm stopped. And then Mrs. Stenavich was there, hurrying forward on her short, muscular legs.

"Matt!" she exclaimed. Her eyes were filled with suspicion. "What are you doing here? The director told you that the upper floors are forbidden."

"Yeah ... well, I must've fell asleep when he told me." Matt looked straight at her. "I heard the bell go and I was on my way to the dining room."

"The dining room is downstairs."

"Right." Matt walked past the two guards, who stepped aside to let him pass. He felt Mrs. Stenavich watching him while he went. Metal doors, alarms, and guards with machine guns. What were they trying to hide? And then he remembered something else. The Shadow Project. Those were the words he had heard when he was listening at Dr. Sorrow's door. Shadow. An area where direct light from a light source cannot reach due to obstruction by an object. But what did it mean? What did light around an object have to do with anything that was happening here? Turning the question over his mind, Matt went down to meet the rest of the students. He would have to figure out the rest later.


	12. Shadow Locks

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 12: Shadow Locks**

At the end of his first week at Ombre Académie, Matt drew up a list of the six boys with whom he shared the school. It was mid afternoon, and he was alone in his room. A notepad was open in front of him. It had taken him about half an hour to put together the names and the few details that he had. He only wished he had more.

JACCO VAN DIJK (15) Dutch. Lives in Amsterdam. Brown hair, green eyes. Father's name, Olaf. Owns diamond mines. Speaks little English. Reads and plays guitar. Very solitary. Sent to OA for major shoplifting and arson.

AIDAN BOUCHARD (15) Canadian. From Vancouver. Parents divorced. Mother runs Media Empire (newspapers, TV). Reddish hair, blue eyes. Well built, chess player. Car thefts and drunken driving ... sent to OA.

KEVIN LEVICH (15) French ... from Bordeaux? Expelled from private school in Paris, cause unknown. Drugs? Brown hair, brown eyes, very fit all around. Tattoo of two vipers around a skull on left shoulder. Good at sports. Father = Anthony levich. Airlines, pop music, hotels. Never mentions his mother.

JAMES RUSSELL (15) American Fair hair, brown eyes. Mother = Joan ... studio chief in Hollywood. Parents divorced. Writes poetry, plays jazz piano. Expelled from six schools. Various drugs offenses. Sent to OA after smuggling arrest. Tells jokes. Seems popular.

JOHN KENT (15) American. Spends much of his time with James. Brown hair, blue eyes. Mother (name unknown) New York senator. Father something major at the Pentagon. Vandalism, truancy, shoplifting. Claims to have own motorbike and three girlfriends (!) in Los Angeles.

JAMIE SPURTZ (15) German. Father = Alec Spurtz, banker, well-known financier (the hundred-million dollar man). Mother living in England. Brown hair, dark blue eyes, pale. Lives in Munich. Expelled for wounding a teacher with an air pistol. Closest I've got to a friend at OA- the only one who really hates it here.

Lying on his bed, Matt studied the list. What did it tell him? Not a great deal.

First, all the boys were the same age: fifteen, the same age as him. At least three of them,

Possibly four, had parents who were either divorced or separated. They all came from hugely wealthy backgrounds. Ooishi had already told him that was the case, but Matt was surprised by just how diverse the parents were. Airlines, diamonds, politics, and movies. They came from different parts of the world. France, Holland, Canada, and America. Each one of them was at the top of his or her field, and those fields covered just about every human activity. He himself was supposed to be the son of a United Nations Member. Suggesting ideas to other countries governments. At least two of the boys had been arrested for shoplifting. Two had been involved with drugs. But Matt knew that the list somehow hid more than it revealed. With the exception of Jamie, it was hard to pin down what made the boys at Ombre Académie different. In a strange way, they all looked the same. Their eyes and hair were different colours. They wore different clothes. All the faces were different: Jacco handsome and confident, John quiet and watchful. And of course they spoke not only with different voices but also in several languages.

Jamie had talked about brains being sucked out with straws, and he had a point. It was as if the same consciousness had somehow invaded them all. They had become puppets, dancing on the same string and Dr Sorrow was the puppeteer. The bell rang downstairs. Matt looked at his watch. It was exactly one o'clock lunch time. That was another thing about the school. Everything was done to the exact minute. Lessons from nine until twelve. Lunch from one to two. And so on. Jamie made a point of being late for everything, and Matt had taken to joining him. It was a tiny rebellion but a satisfying one. It showed they still had a little control over their own lives. The other boys, of course, turned up like clockwork. They would be in the dining room now, waiting quietly for the food to be served. Matt rolled over on the bed and reached for a pen. He wrote a single word on the pad, underneath the names.

**BRAINWASHED?**

Maybe that was the answer. According to Jamie, the other boys had arrived at the academy two months before him. He had been there for just three weeks. That added up to just eleven weeks in total, and Matt knew that you didn't take a bunch of delinquents and turn them into perfect students just by giving them good books. Dr. Sorrow had to be doing something else. Drugs. Hypnosis. Something.

He waited five more minutes, then hid the notepad under his mattress and left the room. He wished he could lock the door. There was no privacy at Ombre Académie. Even the bathrooms had no locks. And Matt still couldn't shake off the feeling that everything he did, even everything he thought, was somehow being monitored, noted down. Evidence to be used against him. And then the conversation between him and Mion came up, why was that still bothering him. It was ten past one when he reached the dining room, and sure enough, the other boys were already there, eating their lunch and talking quietly among themselves. Kevin and James were at one table. Jacco, Aidan, and John were at another. Nobody was flicking peas. Nobody even had their elbows on the table. Aidan was talking about a visit he had made to some museum in Grenoble. Matt had been in the room only a few seconds, but already his appetite had gone. Jamie had arrived just ahead of him and was standing at one of the windows into the kitchen, helping himself to food. Most of the food arrived precooked, and one of the guards heated it up. Today it was stew. Matt got his lunch and sat next to Jamie. The two of them had their own table. They had become friends quite effortlessly. Everyone else ignored them.

"You want to go out after lunch?" Jamie asked.

"Sure. Why not?"

"There's something I want to talk to you about." Matt looked past Jamie at the other boys. There was Aidan, at the head of the table, reaching out for a pitcher of water. He was dressed in a polo shirt and jeans. Next to him was John Kent. He was talking to Jacco now, waving a finger to emphasize a point. Where had Matt seen that movement? Before Russell was just behind them round faced, with fine, light brown hair, laughing at a joke. Different but the same. Watching them closely, Matt tried to figure out what he meant. It was all in the details, the things you wouldn't notice unless you saw them all together, like they were now. The way they were all sitting with their backs straight and their elbows close to their sides. The way they held their knives and forks. Jacco laughed, and Matt realized that for a moment he had become a mirror image of Russell. It was the same laugh. He watched John eat a mouthful of food. Then he watched Kevin. They were two different boys. There was no doubting that. But they ate in the same way, as if mimicking each other. There was a movement at the door, and suddenly Mrs. Stenavich appeared.

"Good afternoon, boys," she said.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Stenavich." Five people answered, but Matt heard only one voice. He and Jamie had remained silent.

"Lessons this afternoon will begin at three o'clock. The subjects will be Latin and French." The lessons were taught by Dr. Sorrow or Mrs. Stenavich. There were no other teachers at the school. Matt hadn't yet been taught anything. Jamie dipped in and out of class, depending on his mood. "There will be a discussion this evening in the library," Mrs. Stenavich went on. "The subject is violence in television and film. Aidan, you will open the debate. Afterward, there will be hot chocolate, and Dr. Sorrow will give a lecture on the works of Mozart. Everyone is welcome to attend." Jamie jabbed a finger into his open mouth and stuck out his tongue, pretending to throw up at the mere thought of tonight. Matt smiled. The other boys were listening quietly. "Dr. Sorrow would also like to congratulate James Russell on winning the poetry competition. His poem is pinned to the bulletin board in the main hall. That is all."

She turned and left the room. Jamie rolled his eyes. As matt stood up John called over to matt.

"Will you be joining us for Latin after lunch, Matt?"

"Get Bent!" Matt replied. The boys chuckled lightly.

"What's the matter, Latin too advanced for you?" he mocked, matt was trying to keep his anger under control he knew what these boys were capable of. The proof was Jamie's face. The boys chortled amongst themselves. "Perhaps learning your time tables then, that should be almost changeling for you." The boys laughed as one, five voices, one laugh. Just then, Matt lost it. He slammed his fist down on the table and yelled at him.

"I thought you were supposed to be a Hardcore Rebel, Kent. But look at you, sucking up to a pathetic old man!" The other boy's faces scowled at him but it was Kent that yelled.

"Don't you talk about the doctor like that! He's a genius!" all of them stood up and the situation was escalating into a big fight, matt wasn't afraid to take down these posers. Just then Jamie placed a hand on matt's shoulder and said.

"Let's go out and get some fresh air, I'm feeling sick." The two of them went upstairs and put on their coats. Jamie had the room next door to Matt and had done his best to make it homier. There were posters of old sci-fi movies on the wall and a mobile with the solar system dangling above the bed. A lava lamp bubbled and swirled on the bedside table, casting an orange glow. There were clothes everywhere. Jamie obviously didn't believe in hanging them up. Somehow he managed to find a scarf and a single glove. He shoved one hand into a pocket. "Let's go," he said. They went back down and along the corridor, passing the games room. Kevin and John were playing table tennis, and Matt stopped at the door to watch them. The ball was bouncing back and forth, and Matt found himself mesmerized. He stood there for about sixty seconds, watching. Kerplink, kerplunk, Kerplink, kerplunk-neither of the boys was scoring. There it was again. Different but the same.

Obviously, there were two boys there. But the way they played, the style of their game, was identical. If it had been one boy knocking a ball against a mirror, the result would have looked much the same. Matt shivered. Jamie was standing at his shoulder. The two of them moved away. Jacco was sitting in the library. The boy who had been sent to Ombre Académie for shoplifting was reading a Dutch edition of National Geographic magazine. They reached the hall, and there was Russell's poem, prominently pinned to the bulletin board. He had been sent to Ombre Académie for smuggling drugs. Now he was writing about daffodils. Matt pushed open the main door and felt the cold wind hit his face. He was grateful for it. He needed to be reminded that there was a real world outside this bizarre goldfish bowl. It had begun to snow again. The two boys walked slowly around the building. A couple of guards walked toward them, speaking softly in German. Matt had counted thirty guards at Ombre Académie, all of them young German men, dressed in uniform black roll-neck sweaters and black vests. The guards never spoke to the boys. They had the pale, unhealthy faces and close-cropped hair he would have expected. Dr. Sorrow had said they were there for his protection, but Matt still wondered. Were they here to keep intruders out, or the boys in?

"This way," Jamie said. Jamie walked ahead, his feet sinking into the thick snow. Matt followed, looking back at the windows on the third and fourth floors. It was maddening. A whole half of the castle perhaps more-was closed off to him, and he still couldn't think of a way of getting up to it. He couldn't climb. The brickwork was too smooth and there was no convenient ivy to provide handholds. The drainpipes looked too fragile to take his weight.

Something moved. Matt stopped in his tracks.

"What is it?" Jamie asked.

"There!" Matt pointed at the third floor. He thought he'd seen a figure, watching them from behind the window directly above his room. It was there for only a moment. The face seemed to be masked. A white mask with a narrow slit for the eyes. But even as he pointed, the figure stepped back, out of sight.

"I don't see anything," Jamie said.

"It's gone."

"What was?" Matt sighed.

"Nothing. Probably just the snow getting into my eyes." They walked on, heading for the abandoned ski jump. According to Jamie, the jump had been built just before Sorrow had bought the academy. There had been plans to turn the building into a winter sports training centre. The jump had never been used. They reached the wooden barriers that lay across the entrance and stopped.

"Let me ask you something," Jamie said. His breath was misting in the cold air. "What do you think of this place?"

"Why do we have to talk out here?" Matt asked. Despite his coat, he was beginning to shiver.

"Because when I'm inside the building, I get the feeling that someone is listening to every word I say." Matt nodded.

"I know what you mean." He considered the question Jamie had put to him. "I think you were right the first day we met," he said. "This place is creepy."

"So how would you feel about getting out of here?"

"You know how to fly the helicopter?"

"No. But I'm going." Jamie paused and looked around. The two guards had gone into the school. There was nobody else in sight. "I can trust you, Matt, because you've just gotten here. He hasn't gotten to you yet." Dr. Sorrow. Jamie didn't need to say the name. "But believe me," he went on, "it won't be long. If you stay here, you're going to end up like the others. Model students. That's exactly the word for them. It's like they're all made out of plastic. Well, I've had enough. I'm not going to let him do that to me.'"

"Are you going to run away?" Matt asked.

"Who needs to run?" Jamie looked down the slope. "I'm going to ski." Matt looked at the slope. It plunged steeply down, stretching on forever.

"Is that possible?" he asked. "I thought-"

"I know Sorrow says it's too dangerous. But he would, wouldn't he? It's true that it's expert black runs all the way down, and there's bound to be tons of moguls . . .'"

"Won't the snow have melted?"

"Only further down." Jamie pointed. "I've been right down to the bottom," he said. "I did it the first week I was here. All the slopes run into a single valley. It's called La Vallee de Fa. You can't actually make it as far as the town because there's a train track that cuts across. But if I can get to the track, I reckon I can walk the rest of the way."

"And then?"

"A train back to Munich. If my dad tries to send me back here, I'll go to my mom in England. If she doesn't want me, I'll disappear. I've got friends in Paris and Berlin. I might even go to your home town. I don't care. All I know is, I've got to make like a banana and split, and if you know what's good for you, you'll come too." Matt considered. He was almost tempted to join the other boy, if only to help him on his way. But he had a job to do.

"I don't have any skis," he said.

"Nor do I." Jamie spat into the snow. "Sorrow took all the skis when the season ended. He's got them locked up somewhere."

"On the third floor?"

"Maybe. But I'll find them. And then I'm out of here." He reached out to Matt with his ungloved hand. "Come with me." Matt shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Jamie. You go, and good luck to you. But I'll stick it out a bit longer. I don't want to break my neck."

"Okay. That's your choice. I'll send you a postcard." The two of them walked back toward the school. Matt gestured at the window where he had seen the masked face.

"Have you ever wondered what goes on up there?" he asked.

"No." Jamie shrugged. "I suppose that's where the guards live."

"Two whole floors?"

"There's a basement as well. And Dr. Sorrow's rooms. Do you think he sleeps with Miss Stinkawitch?" Jamie made a face. "Can you imagine that, Count Dracula and the Blob sleeping together?" Matt laughed.

"Dude, that is gross!" Jamie laughed as well and just like that he went from laughing to serious in an instant, just like Mion. "Well, I'm going to find my skis and get out of here, Matt. And if you've got any sense, you'll come too."

It was night when Matt and Jamie were skiing together down the slope, the blades cutting smoothly through the surface snow. It was a perfect night-everything frozen and still. They had left the academy behind them. But then Matt saw the figure ahead of them. Dr. Sorrow was there. He was standing motionless, wearing his dark suit, his eyes hidden by his round wire glasses. Matt veered away from him. He had lost control. He was moving faster and faster down the slope, his poles flailing at the air, his skis refusing to turn. He could see the ski jump ahead of him. Someone had removed the barriers. He felt his skis leave the snow and shoot forward onto solid ice. And then it was a screaming drop down, tearing ever farther into the night, knowing there was no way back. Dr. Sorrow laughed, and at the same moment there was a click and Matt was shot into space, spinning a mile above the ground and then falling, falling, falling ...

He woke up.

He was lying in bed, the moonlight spilling onto his covers. He looked at his watch. A quarter past two. He played back the dream he had just had. Trying to escape with Jamie. Dr. Sorrow waiting for them. He had to admit, the academy was beginning to get to him. He didn't usually have bad dreams. But the school and the people in it were slipping under his skin, working their way into his mind. He thought about what he had heard. Dr. Sorrow laughing and something else ... a clicking sound. That was strange. What had gone click? Had it actually been part of the dream? Suddenly, Matt was completely awake. He got out of bed, went to the door, and turned the handle. He was right. He hadn't imagined the sound. While he was asleep, the door had been locked from the outside. Something had to be happening-and Matt was determined to see what it was. He got dressed as quickly as possible, then knelt down and examined the lock. He could make out two bolts, at least a half inch in diameter, one at the top and one at the bottom. They must have been activated automatically. One thing was sure: he wasn't going to get out through the door. That left the window. All the bedroom windows were fastened with a steel rod that allowed them to open ten inches but no more. Matt picked up his CD player, put in the Mozart CD, and turned it on. The CD spun around moving at a fantastic speed-then slowly edged forward, still spinning, until it protruded out of the casing.

Matt pressed the edge of the CD against the steel rod. It took just a few seconds. The CD cut through the steel like scissors through paper. The rod fell away, allowing the window to swing fully open. It was still snowing. Matt turned the CD player off and threw it back on his bed. Then he put on some sweats and his coat and climbed out the window. He was two floors up. Normally a fall from that height would have broken an ankle or a leg. But it had been snowing for the better part of ten hours, and a white bank had built up against the wall right beneath him. Matt lowered himself as far as he could, then let go. He fell through the air and hit the snow, disappearing as far as his waist. He felt his feet strike the hard under soil, but the bank had protected him. He was cold and damp before he had even started. But he was unhurt. He climbed out of the snow and began to move around the side of the building, making for the front. He would just have to hope that the main entrance wasn't locked too. But somehow he was sure it wouldn't be. His door had been locked automatically. Presumably a switch had been thrown and all the others had been locked too. Most of the boys would be asleep. Even the ones who were awake wouldn't be going anywhere, leaving Dr. Sorrow free to do whatever he wanted, coming and going as he pleased.

Matt had just made it to the side of the building when he heard the guards approach, boots crunching. There was nowhere to hide, so he threw himself facedown onto the snow, hugging the shadows. There were two guards. He could hear them talking softly in German, but he didn't dare look up. If he made any movement, they would see him. If they came too close, they would probably see him anyway. He held his breath, his heart pounding. The guards walked past and rounded the corner. Their path would take them under his room. Would they see the open window? Matt had left the light off. With luck, there would be no reason for them to look up. But he was still aware that he might not have much time. He had to move now. He lifted himself up and ran forward. His clothes were covered in snow, and more flakes were falling, drifting into his eyes. It was the coldest part of the night, and Matt was shivering by the time he reached the main door. What would he do if it was locked after all? He certainly wouldn't be able to stay out in the open until morning. But the door was unlocked.

Matt pushed it open and slipped into the warmth and darkness of the main hall. The dragon fireplace was in front of him. There had been a fire earlier in the evening, and the burned-out logs were still smouldering in the hearth. Matt held his hands against the glow, trying to draw a little warmth into himself. Everything was silent. The empty corridors stretched into the distance, illuminated by a few low-watt bulbs that had been left on at intervals. Only now did it occur to Matt that he could have been mistaken from the start. Perhaps the doors were locked every night as part of the security. Perhaps he had jumped too quickly to the wrong conclusion and there was nothing going on at all.

"No!" It was a boy's voice-a long, quavering shout that echoed through the school. A moment later, Matt heard feet stamping along a wooden corridor somewhere above. He looked for somewhere to hide and found it inside the fireplace, right next to the logs. The actual fire was contained in a metal basket, and there was a wide space on each side between the basket and the brickwork. Matt crouched low, feeling the heat on the side of his face and legs. He looked out, past the two dragons, waiting to see what would happen. Three people were coming down the stairs. Mrs. Stenavich was the first. She was followed by two of the guards, dragging something between them. It was a boy! He was facedown, dressed only in his pyjamas, his bare feet sliding down the stone steps. Mrs. Stenavich opened the library door and went in. The two guards followed. The door crashed shut. The silence returned. It had all happened very quickly. Matt had been unable to see the boy's face. But he was sure he knew who it was. He had known just from the sound of his voice. Jamie Spurtz. Matt eased himself out of the fireplace and crossed the hall, making for the library door. There was no sound coming from the other side.

He knelt down and looked through the keyhole. No lights were on inside the room. He could see nothing. What should he do? If he went back upstairs, he could make it back to his room without being seen. He could wait until the doors were unlocked and then slip into bed. Nobody would know he had been out. But the only person in the school who had shown him any kindness was on the other side of the library door. He had been dragged down here. Perhaps he was being brainwashed ... beaten, even. Matt couldn't just turn around and leave him. Matt had made his decision. He threw open the door and walked in.

The library was empty.

He stood in the doorway, blinking. The library had only one door. All the windows were closed. There were no lights on and no sign that anyone had been there. The suit of armour stood in its alcove at the end, watching him as he moved forward. Could he have been mistaken? Could Mrs. Stenavich and the guards have gone into a different room?

Matt went over to the alcove and looked behind the armour, wondering if there might be a second exit concealed there. There was nothing. He tapped a knuckle against the wall. Curiously, it seemed to be made of metal, but unlike the wall across the stairs, there was no handle, nothing to suggest a way through. There was nothing more he could do here. Matt decided to go back to his room before they discovered that he was missing. But he had just made it to the second floor when he heard voices once again ... more guards, walking slowly down the corridor. Matt saw an empty door and slipped inside, once again ducking out of sight. He was in the laundry room. There was a washing machine, a dryer, and two ironing boards. At least it was warm in here. He felt himself surrounded by the smell of soap. The guards walked past, and soon the sound of their footsteps disappeared. There was a second metallic click that seemed to stretch the full length of the corridor, and Matt realized that all the doors had been unlocked at the same time. He could go back to bed. He crept out and hurried forward. His footsteps took him past Jamie Spurtz's room, next to his own. He noticed that Jamie's door was open. And then a voice called out from inside.

"Matt?" It was Jamie. No. That wasn't possible. But there was someone in his room.

Matt looked inside. The light went on. It was Jamie. He was sitting up in bed, bleary-eyed, as if he had just woken up. Matt stared at him. He was wearing the same pyjamas as the boy he had just seen dragged into the library ... but that couldn't have been him. It must have been someone else. "What are you doing?" Jamie asked.

"I thought I heard something," Matt said.

"But you're dressed. And you're soaking wet!" Jamie looked at his watch. "It's almost three." Matt was surprised that so much time had passed. It had been only a quarter past two when he had woken up. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah . . ."

"You haven't ...?"

"'What?"

"Nothing. I'll see you tomorrow." Matt crept back to his own room. He closed the door then stripped off his wet clothes, dried himself with a towel, and got back into bed. If it hadn't been Jamie he had seen being taken into the library, who was it? And yet it had been Jamie; he was sure of it. He had heard the shout, seen the limp form on the stairs. So why was Jamie lying now? Matt closed his eyes and tried to get back to sleep. The movements of the night had created more puzzles and had solved nothing. But at least he'd gotten something out of it all.

He now knew how to get up to the third floor. Before he fell asleep Mion's conversation was still puzzling him, little did he know the answer to the puzzle would be solved tomorrow.


	13. Shadow Floor

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 13: The Shadow Floor**

Jaime was already eating his breakfast when Matt came down: eggs, bacon, toast, and tea. He had the same breakfast every day. He raised a hand in greeting as Matt came in. But the moment he saw him, Matt got the feeling that something was wrong. Jamie was smiling, but he seemed somehow distant, as if his thoughts were on other things.

"So what was all that about last night?" Jamie asked.

"I don't know." Matt was tempted to tell Jamie everything-even the fact that he was here under a false name and that he had been sent to spy on the school but he couldn't do it. Not here, so close to the other boys. "I think I had some sort of bad dream."

"Did you go sleepwalking in the snow?"

"No. I thought I saw something, but I couldn't have. I just had a weird night." He changed the subject, lowering his voice. "Have you thought any more about your plan?" he asked.

"What plan?"

"Skiing."

"We're not allowed to ski."

"I mean ... escaping." Jamie smiled as if he'd only just remembered what Matt was talking about.

"Oh-I've changed my mind," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"If I ran away, my dad would only send me back again. There's no point. I might as well grin and bear it. Anyway, I'd never get all the way down the mountain. The snow's too thin." Matt stared at Jamie. Everything he was saying was the exact opposite of what he had said the day before. He almost wondered if this was the same boy. But of course it was. He was as untidy as ever. The bruises-fading now-were still there on his face. Dark hair, dark blue eyes, pale skin-it was Jamie. And yet, something had happened. He was sure of it. Then matt knew something was wrong when he heard Jamie saying something he wouldn't normally say.

"Good, Morning Mrs. Stenavich." He raised a hand in greeting with the other boys. Matt's jaw hung limp, where was the smart remarks about what she was wearing or the nickname "Stinkawitch" When Matt turned round he saw that Mrs. Stenavich had come into the room, wearing a particularly nasty lime green dress that came down just to her knees.

"Good morning, boys!" she announced. "We're starting today's lessons in ten minutes. The first lesson is history in the tower room." She walked over to Matt's table. "Jamie, I hope you're going to join us today." Jamie nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Stenavich."

"Excellent. We're looking at the life of Adolf Hitter. Such an interesting man. I'm sure you'll find it most valuable." She walked away. As Jamie stood up matt grabbed his arm.

"You're going to class?" As Jamie released himself from matt's grasp he told matt.

"Why not? I'm stuck here and there isn't much else to do. Maybe I should have gone to class before. You shouldn't be so negative, Matt." He waved a finger to underline what he was saying. "You're wasting your time." Matt froze. He had seen that movement before, the way he had waved his finger. John Kent, the American boy, had done exactly the same thing yesterday.

Puppets dancing on the same string.

What had happened last night?

Matt watched Jamie leave with the others. He felt he had lost his only friend at Ombre Académie, and suddenly he wanted to be away from this place, off the mountain and back in the safe world of Readington High. Not that there was much difference, he felt exactly same here as he did there. There might have been a time when he had wanted this adventure. Now he just wanted out of it. Press Stop three times on his CD player and JIN 7 would come for him. But he couldn't do that until he had something to report. Matt knew what he had to do. He got up and left the room. He had seen the way the night before when he was hiding in the fireplace. The chimney bent and twisted its way to the open air. He had been able to see a chink of light from the bottom. Moonlight. The bricks outside the academy might be too smooth to climb, but inside the chimney they were broken and uneven with plenty of hand- and footholds. Maybe there would be a fireplace on the third or fourth floors. But even if there weren't, the chimney would still lead him to the roof and-assuming there weren't any guards waiting for him there-he might be able to find a way down.

Matt reached the fireplace with the two stone dragons. He looked at his watch. Ten o'clock. Classes would continue until lunch, and nobody would wonder where he was. The fire had finally gone out, although the ashes were still warm. Would one of the guards come to clean it? He would just have to hope that they would leave it until the afternoon. He looked up the chimney. He could see a narrow slit of bright blue. The sky seemed a very long way away, and the chimney was narrower than he had thought. What if he got stuck? He forced the thought out of his head, reached for a crack in the brickwork, and pulled himself up. The inside of the chimney smelled of a thousand fires. Soot hung in the air, and Matt couldn't breathe without taking it in. He managed to find a foothold and pushed, sliding himself a short way up. Now he was wedged inside, forced into a sitting position with his feet against one wall, his back against the other, and his legs and bottom hanging in the air. He wouldn't need to use his hands at all. He only had to straighten his legs to push himself up, using the pressure of his feet against the wall to keep himself in place. Push and slide. He had to be careful. Every movement brought more soot trickling down.

He could feel it in his hair. He didn't dare look up. If it went into his eyes he would be blinded. Push and slide again, then again. Not too fast. If his feet slipped he would fall all the way back down. He was already a long way above the fireplace. How far had he gone? At least one floor ... meaning that he had to be on his way to the third. If he fell from this height, he would break both his legs. The chimney was getting darker and tighter. The light at the top didn't seem to be getting any nearer. Matt found it difficult to manoeuvre himself. He could barely breathe. His entire mouth seemed to be coated in soot. He pushed again, and this time his knees banged into brickwork, sending a spasm of pain down to his feet. Pinning himself in place, Matt reached up and tried to feel where he was going.

There was an L-shaped wall jutting out above his head. His knees had hit the bottom part of it. But his head was behind the upright section. Whatever the obstruction was, it effectively cut the passageway in half, leaving only the narrowest of gaps for Matt's shoulders and body to pass through. Once again, the nightmare prospect of getting stuck flashed into his mind. Nobody would ever find him. He would suffocate in the dark. He gasped for breath and swallowed soot. One last try! He pushed again, his arms stretching out over his head. He felt his back slide up the wall, the rough brickwork tearing at his shirt. Then his hands hooked over what he realized must be the top of the L. He pulled himself up and found himself looking into a second fireplace, sharing the main chimney. That was the obstruction he had just climbed around. Matt raised himself over the top and dived clumsily forward. More logs and ashes broke his fall. He had made it to the third floor! He crawled out of the fireplace. Only a few weeks before, at Readington, he'd been reading about Victorian chimney sweeps, how boys as young as nine had been forced into virtual slave labour. He had never thought he would learn how they felt. He coughed and spat into the palm of his hand. His saliva was black. He wondered what he must look like. He would have to have a bath before he was seen. He stood up, the third floor was as silent as the first and second. Soot trickled out of his hair, and for a moment he was blinded. He propped himself against a statue while he wiped his eyes.

"Okay Third floor let's get a good look at..." he stopped and blinked. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and then he looked again. He was leaning on a stone dragon, identical to the one on the ground floor. He looked at the fireplace. That too was identical. In fact...

Matt wondered if he hadn't somehow made a terrible mistake. He was standing in a hall that was the same in every detail as the hall on the ground floor. There were the same corridors, the same staircase, the same fireplace ... even the same animal heads staring miserably from the walls. It was as if he had climbed in a circle arriving back where he had begun. He turned around. No. Here was one difference.

There was no main door. He could look down on the front courtyard from the window.

There was a guard leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette. This was the third floor. But it had been constructed as a perfect replica of the first. A shadow floor, exactly the same as the first. Matt tiptoed forward; worried that somebody might have heard him climb out of the fireplace. But there was no one around. He followed the corridor as far as the first door. On the first floor, this would lead into the library. Gently, an inch at a time, he opened the door, it led into a second library- again, the spitting image of the first. It had the same tables and chairs, the same suit of armour guarding the same alcove. He ran an eye along one of the shelves. It even had the same books. In exactly the same place. But there was one difference-at least, one difference that Matt could see. He felt as if he had strayed into one of those puzzles they sometimes printed in comics or magazines: two identical pictures, but ten deliberate mistakes. Can you spot them? The mistake here was that there was a large television set built into a shelf on a wall. The television was on. Matt found himself looking at an image of yet another library. He was beginning to feel dizzy. What was the library on the television screen? It couldn't be this one because Matt himself was not being shown. So it had to be the library on the first floor. Two identical libraries. You could sit in one and watch the other. But why? What was the point? It took Matt about ten minutes to discover that the entire third floor was a carbon copy of the first floor with the same dining room, living rooms, and games room. Matt went over to the snooker table and placed a ball in the middle. It tolled into the corner pocket. The room was on the same slant, a television screen showed the games room downstairs. It was the same as in the library: one room spying on another. He retraced his steps and climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. He wanted to find his own room, but first he went into Jamie's. It was another perfect copy: the same sci-fi posters, the same mobile hanging over the bed, the same lava lamp on the same table. There were even the same clothes strewn over the floor. So these rooms weren't just built to be the same-they were carefully maintained to be the same. Whatever happened downstairs happened upstairs. But did that mean there had been somebody living here, watching every movement that Jamie Spurtz made, doing everything he did? And if so, had somebody else been doing the same for him? Matt went next door. It was like stepping into his own room.

Again there was the same bed, the same furnishings, the same television. He turned it on. The picture showed his room on the first floor. There was the CD player, lying on the bed. There were his wet clothes from the night before. Had somebody been watching when he cut through the window and climbed out into the night? Matt felt a jolt of alarm, and then forced himself to relax. This room-the copy of his room-was different. Nobody had moved in here yet. He could tell, just by looking around him. The bed hadn't been slept in. And the smaller details hadn't yet been copied. There was no CD player in the duplicate room. No wet clothes. He had left the closet door open downstairs. In here it was closed. The whole thing was like some sort of mind-bending puzzle. Matt forced himself to think it through. Every single boy who arrived at the academy was watched. All his actions were duplicated. If he hung a poster on the wall of his room, an identical poster was hung in an identical room. There would be someone living in this room, doing everything that Matt did. He remembered the figure he had glimpsed the day before ... someone wearing what looked like a white mask. Perhaps that person had been about to move in. But all the evidence suggested that, for whatever reason, he wasn't here yet. And that still left the biggest question of all. What was the point? To spy on the boys was one thing. But to copy everything they did? Then he realised what Mion was talking about and what she meant by it.

_Be careful up in the mountains, danger lurks in shadows and even your shadow could be your greatest enemy._

The guards with their machine guns, the black gleaming steel. A figure looking over him and then retreated back into the shadow and someone who was shadowing him lived on this floor.

A door swung shut and he heard voices, two men walking down the corridor outside. Matt crept over to the door and looked out. He just had time to see Dr. Sorrow walk through a door with another man, a short, plump figure in a white coat. They had gone into the laundry room. Matt slipped out of the duplicate bedroom and followed them.

". . . You have completed the work. I am grateful to you, Mr. Stockman."

"Thank you, Dr. Sorrow." They had left the door open. Matt crouched down and looked through. Here at last was a section of the third floor that didn't mirror the first. There were no washing machines or ironing boards here. Instead, Matt found himself looking into a room with a row of sinks and a second set of doors leading into a fully equipped operating room at least twice as big as the laundry room on the first floor. At the centre of the room was an operating table. The walls were lined with shelves containing surgical equipment, chemicals, and-scattered across the surface-what looked like black and white photographs.

An operating room! What was its role in this bizarre, devilish jigsaw puzzle? The two men had walked into it and were talking together, Sorrow standing with one hand in his pocket. Matt chose his moment, then slipped into the outer room, crouching down beside one of the sinks. The second set of doors was open. From here he could watch and listen as the two of them talked.

"So ... I hope you're pleased with the last operation." It was Mr. Baxter Stockman who was speaking. He had half turned toward the doors, and Matt could see a round, flabby face with yellow hair and a thin moustache. Stockman was wearing a bow tie and a checked suit underneath his white coat. Matt had never seen the man before. He was certain of it. And yet, he sensed he knew him. Another puzzle!

"Entirely," Dr. Sorrow replied. "I saw him as soon as the bandages came off. You have done extremely well."

"I was always the best. But that's what you paid for." Stockman chuckled. His voice was oily. "And while we're on that subject, maybe we should talk about my final payment."

"You have already been paid the sum of one million dollars."

"Yes, Dr. Sorrow." Stockman smiled. "But I was wondering if you might not like to think about a little ... bonus?"

"I thought we had an agreement." Dr. Sorrow turned his head very slowly. The red glasses homed in on the other man like searchlights.

"We had an agreement for my work, yes. But my silence is another matter. I was thinking of another quarter of a million. Given the size and the scope of your Shadow Project, it's not so much to ask. Then I'll retire to my little house in Spain and you'll never hear from me again."

"I will never hear from you again?"

"I promise." Dr. Sorrow nodded.

"Yes. I think that's a good idea." His hand came out of his pocket. Matt saw that it was holding an automatic pistol with a thick silencer protruding from the barrel. Baxter Stockman was still smiling as Sorrow shot him once, through the middle of the forehead. He was thrown off his feet and onto the operating table. He lay still. Dr. Sorrow lowered the gun. He went over to a telephone, picked it up, and dialled a number. There was a pause while his call was answered. Then ... "This is Sorrow. I have some garbage in the operating room that needs to be removed. Could you please inform the disposal team?", He put down the phone and glancing one last time at the still figure on the operating table, walked to the other side of the room. Matt saw him press a button. A section of the wall slid open to reveal an elevator on the other side. Dr. Sorrow got in. The doors closed. Matt straightened up, too shocked to think straight. He staggered forward and went into the operating room. He knew he had to move fast. The disposal team that Dr. Sorrow had called for would be on their way. But he wanted to know what sort of operations took place here. Mr. Baxter Stockman had presumably been the surgeon. But for what sort of work had he been paid a million dollars?

Trying not to look at the body, Matt glanced around. On one shelf was a collection of surgical knives, as horrible as anything he had ever seen, the blades so sharp that he could almost feel their touch just by looking at them. There were rolls of gauze, syringes, and bottles containing various liquids. But nothing to say how Baxter had been employed. Matt realized it was hopeless. He knew nothing about medicine. This room could have been used for anything from ingrown toenails to full-blown heart surgery. And then he saw the photographs.

He recognized himself, lying on a bed that he thought he knew all too well. It was Rome! Room 13 at the HOTEL DEL MONDO OSCURO. He remembered the black and-white comforter, as well as the clothes he had been wearing that night. The clothes had been removed in most of the photographs. Every inch of him had been photographed, sometimes close up, sometimes wider. In every picture, his eyes were closed. Looking at himself, Matt knew that he had been drugged and, for the first time, remembered how the dinner with Mrs. Stenavich had ended. The photographs disgusted him. He had been manipulated by people who thought he was worth nothing at all. From the moment he had met them, he had disliked Dr. Sorrow and his assistant director. Now he felt pure loathing. He still didn't know what they were doing. But they were evil. They had to be stopped. He was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. The disposal team!

He looked around him and cursed. He didn't have time to get out, and there was nowhere in the room to hide. Then he remembered the elevator. He went over to it and urgently stabbed at the button. The footsteps were getting nearer. He heard voices. Then the panels slid open. Matt stepped into a small, silver box. There were five buttons: S,R, 1, 2, and 3. He pressed R. He knew enough French to know that the R must stand for Rez-de-chaussee ... or first floor. With luck, the elevator would take him back to where he had begun. The doors slid shut a few seconds before the guards entered the operating room. Matt felt his stomach lurch as he was carried down. The elevator slowed. He realized that the doors could open anywhere. He might find himself surrounded by guards-or by the other boys in the school. Well it was too late now. He had made his choice without thinking. He would just have to cope with whatever he found. But he was lucky. The doors slid open to reveal the library. Matt assumed this was the real library and not another copy. The room was empty.

He stepped out of the elevator, then turned around. He was facing the alcove. The elevator doors formed the alcove wall. They were brilliantly camouflaged, with the suit of armour now sliced exactly in two, one half on each side. As the doors closed automatically, the armour slid back together again, completing the disguise. Despite himself, Matt had to admire the simplicity of it. The entire building was a fantastic box of tricks. Matt looked at his hands. They were still filthy. He had almost forgotten that he was completely covered in soot. He crept out of the library, trying not to leave black footprints on the carpet. Then he hurried back to his room.

"This place is just a huge fun house," he said to himself. As he climbed the stairs to the second floor he smiled to himself as he approached his door. "Well I got a few tricks of my own." When he got there, he had to remind himself that it was indeed his room and not the copy two floors above. The CD player was there, and that was what he most needed. He knew enough. It was time to call for the cavalry. He pressed the Stop button three times, then went to take a shower.


	14. Waiting in the Shadows

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 14: Waiting in the Shadows**

It was raining in Tomoeda, the sort of rain that seems never to stop. The early evening traffic was huddled together, going nowhere. Korindo Ooishi was standing at the window, looking out over the street, when there was a knock at the door. He turned away almost reluctantly, as if the city at its most damp and dismal held some attraction for him. Mrs. Jensen came in. She was carrying a sheet of paper. As Ooishi sat down behind his desk, he noticed the two words MOST URGENT printed in red across the top.

"We've heard from Matt," Mrs. Jensen said.

"Oh, yes?"

"Samantha gave him a global-satellite transmitter built into a portable CD player. Matt sent a signal to us this morning, at eleven twenty-seven hours, his time."

"Meaning ...?"

"Either he's in trouble or he's found out enough for us to go in. Either way, we have to pull him out."

"I wonder . . ." Ooishi leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. As a young man, he had gained a degree with honours in mathematics at Cambridge University, England. Thirty years later, he still saw life as only a series of complicated calculations. "Matt has been at Ombre Académie for how long?" he asked.

"A week."

"As I recall, he didn't want to go. According to George Hiroku, his behaviour at Osokiuo Mansion was, to say the least, antisocial. Did you know that he knocked out Hiroku's daughter with a stun dart? Apparently, he also got her nearly killed in an incident in a railway tunnel." Mrs. Jensen sat down.

"What are you saying, Korindo?" she demanded.

"Only that Matt may not be one hundred percent reliable."

"He sent the message." Mrs. Jensen couldn't keep the exasperation out of her voice. "For all we know, he could be in serious trouble. We gave him the device as an alarm signal, to let us know if he needed help. He's used it. We can't just sit back and do nothing."

"I wasn't suggesting that." Korindo Ooishi looked curiously at his deputy head of operations. "You're not forming some sort of attachment to Matt Ishida, are you?" he asked. Mrs. Jensen looked away.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You seem worried about him."

"He's fifteen years old, Ooishi! He's a child, for heaven's sake!"

"You used to have children."

"Yes." Mrs. Jensen turned to face him again. "Perhaps that does make a difference. But even you must admit that he's special. We don't have another agent like him. A fifteen year-old boy! The perfect secret weapon. My feelings about him have nothing to do with it. We can't afford to lose him."

"I just don't want to go blundering into Ombre Académie without any firm information," Ooishi said. "First of, all this is France we're talking about-and you know what the French are like. If we're seen to be invading their territory, they'll kick up one hell of a fuss. Secondly, Sorrow has got hold of boys from some of the wealthiest families in the world. If we go storming in with the SAT or whatever, the whole thing could blow up into a major international incident."

"You wanted proof that the school was connected with the deaths of Jones and Vanko" Mrs. Jensen said. "Matt may have it."

"He may have it and he may not. A twenty- four -hour delay shouldn't make a great deal of difference."

"Twenty-four hours?"

"We'll put a unit on standby. They can keep an eye on things. If Matt is in trouble, we'll find out soon enough. It could play to our favour if he's managed to stir things up. It's exactly what we want. Force Sorrow to show his hand."

"And if Matt contacts us again?"

"Then we'll go in."

"We may be too late."

"For Matt?" Ooishi showed no emotion. "I'm sure you don't need to worry about him, Mrs. Jensen. He can look after himself." The telephone rang, and Ooishi answered it. The discussion was over. Mrs. Jensen got up and left to make the arrangements for an SAT unit to fly into Geneva. Ooishi was right, of course. Delaying tactics might work in their favour.

Clear it with the French. Find out what was going on. And it was only twenty-four hours.

She would just have to hope Matt could survive that long.

Matt found himself eating his breakfast on his own. For the first time, Jamie Spurtz had decided to join the other boys. There they were, the six of them, suddenly the best of friends. Matt looked carefully at the boy who had once been his friend, trying to see what it was that had changed about him. He knew the answer. It was everything and nothing. Jamie was exactly the same and completely different at the same time. He finished his food and got up. Jamie called out to him.

"Why don't you come to class this afternoon, Matt? It's Latin." Matt shook his head.

"Latin's a waste of time."

"Is that what you think?" Jamie couldn't keep the sneer out of his voice, and for a moment Matt was startled. For just one second it hadn't been Jamie talking at all. It had been Jamie who had moved his mouth, but it had been Dr. Sorrow speaking the words.

"You enjoy it" Matt said. He hurried out of the room.

More than twenty hours had passed since he had pressed the Fast Forward button on the Discman. Matt wasn't sure what he had been expecting. A fleet of helicopters all flying the Japanese flag or a hoard of samurais and ninjas storming the mountains would have been reassuring. But so far nothing had happened. He even wondered if the alarm signal had worked. At the same time, he was annoyed with himself. He had seen Sorrow shoot the man called Baxter Stockman in the operating room, and he had panicked. He knew that Sorrow was a killer. He knew that the academy was far more than the finishing school it pretended to be. But he still didn't have all the answers. What exactly was Dr. Sorrow doing? Had he been responsible for the deaths of Paul A. Jones and Anto Vanko-and if so, why? The fact was, he didn't know enough. And by the time JIN 7 arrived, Dr. Baxter stockman's body would be buried somewhere in the mountains and there would be nothing to suggest there was anything wrong. Matt would look like an idiot. He could almost imagine Dr. Sorrow telling his side of the story...

"Yes. There is an operating room here. It was built years ago. We never use the top two floors. There is an elevator, yes. It was built before we came. We explained to Matt about the armed guards. They're here for his protection. But as you can see, gentlemen, there is nothing unpleasant happening here. The other boys are fine. Baxter? No, I don't know anyone by that name. Obviously Matt has been having bad dreams. I'm amazed that he was sent here to spy on us. I would ask you to take him with you when you leave. . . ."

He had to find out more-and that meant going back up to the third floor. Or perhaps down. Matt remembered the letters in the elevator. R for Rez-de-chaussee. S had to stand for Sous-sol-French for basement. He went over to the Latin classroom and looked in through the half open door. Dr. Sorrow was out of sight, but Matt could hear his voice.

"Obscurum of mens pectus pectoris vadum plumbum lemma ut opulentia of suus ruina…" There was the sound of scratching, chalk on a blackboard. And there were the six boys, sitting at their desks, listening intently. Jamie was sitting between John and Jacco, taking notes. Matt looked at his watch. They would be there another hour. He was on his own.

He walked back down the corridor and slipped into the library. He had woken up still smelling faintly of soot and had no intention of making his way back up the chimney. Instead he crossed over to the suit of armour. He knew now that the alcove disguised a pair of elevator doors. They could be opened from inside. Presumably there was some sort of control on the outside too. It took him just a few minutes to find it. There were three buttons built into the breastplate of the armour. Even up close, the buttons looked like part of the suit ... something the medieval knight would have had to use to strap the thing on. But when Matt pressed the middle button, it moved. A moment later, the armour split in half again and he found himself looking into the waiting elevator. This time he went down, not up. The elevator seemed to travel a long way, as if the basement of the building had been built far underground. Finally, the doors slid open again. Matt looked out onto a curving passageway with tiled walls that reminded him a little of a London subway station. The air was cold down here. The passage was lit by naked bulbs, screwed into the ceiling at intervals. He looked out, then ducked back. A guard sat at a table at the end of the corridor, reading a newspaper. Would he have heard the elevator doors open? Matt leaned forward again. The guard was absorbed in the sports pages. He hadn't moved. Matt slipped out and crept down the passage, moving away from him. He reached the corner and turned into a second passageway lined with steel doors.

There was nobody else in sight.

Where was he? There had to be something down here or there wouldn't be any need for a guard. Matt went over to the nearest door. There was a peephole set in the front, and he looked through into a bare, white cell with two bunk beds, a toilet, and a sink. There were two boys in the cell. One he had never seen before, but he recognized the other. It was the red-haired boy, Aidan Bouchard. But he had seen Aidan in Latin class just a few minutes ago! What was he doing here? Matt moved on to the next cell. This one also held two boys. One was a fair-haired, fit-looking boy with blue eyes and freckles. Once again, he recognized the other. It was Jamie Spurtz. Matt examined the door There were two bolts but as far as he could see, no key. He drew back the bolts and jerked the door handle down. The door opened. He went in. Jamie stood up, astonished to see him.

"Alex! What are you doing here?" Matt pressed a finger to his lips telling him to hush.

Matt closed the door.

"We haven't got much time," he said. He was speaking in a whisper even though there was little chance of being overheard. "What happened to you?"

"They came for me the night before last," Jamie said. "They dragged me out of bed and into the library. There was some sort of elevator . . ."

"Behind the armour."

"Yes. I didn't know what they were doing. I thought they were going to kill me. But then they threw me in here."

"You've been here for two days?"

"Yes." Matt shook his head.

"I saw you having breakfast upstairs fifteen minutes ago."

"They've made duplicates of us." The other boy had spoken for the first time. He had an American accent. "All of us! I don't know how they've done it or why. But that's what they've done." He glanced at the door with anger in his eyes. "I've been here for months. My name's Arthur Jones."

"Jones! Your dad's ... ?"

"Paul Jones." Matt fell silent. He couldn't tell this boy what had happened to his father and he looked away, afraid that Arthur would read it in his eyes.

"How did you get down here?" Jamie asked.

"Listen," Matt said. He was speaking rapidly now. "I was sent here by JIN 7. My name isn't Matt Hiroku. It's Matt Ishida. Everything's going to be okay. They'll send people in and get you all freed."

"You're a spy?" Jamie was obviously startled. Matt nodded. "I'm sort of a spy, I suppose," he said.

"You've opened the door. We can get out of here!" Arthur Jones stood up, ready to move.

"No!" Matt held up his hands. "You've got to wait. There's no way down the mountain. Stay here for now and I'll come back with help. I promise you. It's the only way."

"I can't-"

"You have to. Trust me, Arthur. I'm going to have to lock you back in so that nobody will know I've been here. But it won't be for long. I'll come back!" Matt couldn't wait for any more argument. He went back to the door and opened it. Mrs. Stenavich was standing outside. He barely had time to register the shock of seeing her. He tried to bring up a hand to protect himself, to twist his body into position for a karate kick. But it was already too late. Her arm shot out, the heel of her hand was driving into his face. It was like being hit by a brick wall. Matt felt every bone in his body rattle. White light exploded behind his eyes. Then he was out. The two boys looked shocked their only escape was now lying on the floor unconscious.


	15. Ruling the world 101

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 15: Ruling the world 101**

"Open your eyes, matt. Dr. Sorrow wishes to speak to you." The words came from across an ocean. Matt groaned and tried to lift his head. He was sitting down, his arms pinned behind his back. The whole side of his face felt bruised and swollen, and the taste of blood was in his mouth. He opened his eyes and waited for the room to come into focus. Mrs. Stenavich was standing in front of him; her fist curled loosely in her other hand. Matt remembered the force of the blow that had knocked him out. His whole head was throbbing, and he ran his tongue over his teeth to see if any were missing. It was fortunate he had rolled with the punch. Otherwise she might have broken his neck. Dr. Sorrow was sitting in his golden chair, watching Matt with what might have been curiosity or distaste. Or perhaps a little of both There was nobody else in the room. It was still snowing outside, and a small fire burned in the hearth. The flames weren't as red as Dr. Sorrow's eyes.

"You have put us to a great deal of inconvenience," he said. Matt straightened his head. He tried to move his hands, but they had been chained together behind the chair. "Your name is not Matt Hiroku. You are not the son of George Hiroku. Your name is Matt Ishida, and you are employed by the Japanese secret service." Dr. Sorrow was simply stating facts. There was no emotion in his voice.

"We have microphones concealed in the cells," Mrs. Stenavich explained. "Sometimes it is useful for us to hear the conversations between our young guests. Everything you said was overheard by the guard who summoned me."

"You have wasted our time and our money," Dr. Sorrow continued. "For that you will be punished. It is not a punishment you will survive." The words were cold and absolute, and Matt felt the fear that they triggered. It coursed through his bloodstream, closing in on his heart. He took a deep breath, forcing himself back under control. He had signalled JIN 7. They would be on their way to Ombre Académie. They might appear any minute now. He just had to play for time.

"You can't do anything to me," he said.

Mrs. Stenavich lashed out, and he was almost thrown backwards as the back of her hand sliced into the side of his head. Only the chair kept him upright.

"When you speak to the director, you will refer to him as 'Dr. Sorrow,'" she said.

Matt looked around again, his eyes watering. "You can't do anything to me, Dr. Sorrow," he said. "I know everything. I know about Project Shadow. And I've already told Tomoeda what I know. If you do anything to me, they'll kill you. They're on their way here now." Dr. Sorrow smiled, and in that single moment Matt knew that nothing he said would change what was about to happen to him. The man was too confident. He was like a poker player who had not only managed to see all the cards but had also stolen the four aces for himself.

"It may well be that your friends are on their way." he said. "But I do not think you have told them anything. We have been through your luggage and found the transmitting device concealed in the Discman. I note also that it is an ingenious electric saw. But as for the transmitter, it can send out a signal, but not a message. How you learned about the Shadow Project is of no interest to me. I assume you overheard the name while eavesdropping at a door. We should have been more careful-but for Japanese intelligence to send in a child ... that was something we could not expect. "Let us assume that your friends do come calling. They will find nothing wrong. You yourself will have disappeared. I shall tell them that you ran away. I will say that my men are looking for you even now, but that I very much fear you have died a cold and lingering death on the mountainside. Nobody will guess what I have done here. The Shadow Project will succeed. It has already succeeded. And even if your friends do take it upon themselves to kill me, it will make no difference. I cannot be killed, Matt. The world is already mine."

"You mean, it belongs to the kids you've hired to act as doubles, Matt said.

"Hired?" Dr. Sorrow muttered a few words to Mrs. Stenavich in a harsh, guttural language. Matt assumed it must be Afrikaans. Her thick lips parted and she laughed, showing heavy, discoloured teeth. "Is that what you think?" Dr. Sorrow asked. "Is that what you believe?"

"I've seen them . . ."

"You don't know what you've seen. You have no understanding of my genius! Your little mind couldn't begin to encompass what I have achieved." Dr. Sorrow was breathing heavily. He seemed to come to a decision. "It is rare enough for me to come face-to-face with the enemy," he said. "It has always been my frustration that I will never be able to communicate to the world the brilliance of what I have done. Well, since I have you here-a captive audience, so to speak-I shall allow myself the luxury of describing the Shadow Project. And when you go, screaming, to your death, you will understand that there was never any hope for you. That you could not hope to come up against a man like me and win. Perhaps that will make it easier for you."

"I will smoke, if you don't mind, Doctor," Mrs. Stenavich said. She took out her cigars and lit one. Smoke danced in front of her eyes.

"I am, as I am sure you are aware, South African," Dr. Sorrow began. "The animals in the hall and in this room are all souvenirs of my time there, shot on safari. I still miss the country. It is the most beautiful place on this planet." "What you may not know, however, is that for many years I was one of South Africa's foremost biochemists. I was head of the biology department, mostly in genetics at the University of Johannesburg. I later ran the Cyclops Institute for Genetic Research in Pretoria. But the height of my career came in the 1960s when, although I was still in my twenties, John Vorster, the president of South Africa, appointed me minister of science."

"You've already said you're going to kill me," Matt said, "but I didn't think that meant you were going to bore me to death." Mrs. Stenavich coughed on her cigar and advanced on Matt, her fist clenched. But Dr. Sorrow stopped her.

"Let the boy have his little joke," he said. "There will be pain enough for him later."

The assistant director glowered at Matt, but returned to her seat. Dr. Sorrow went on. "I am telling you this, Matt, only because it will help you understand. You perhaps know nothing about South Africa. Japanese schoolchildren are, I have found, the laziest and most ignorant in the world. All that will soon change! But let me tell you a little bit about my country, as it was when I was young. "The white people of South Africa ruled everything. Under the laws that came to be known to the world as apartheid, black people were not allowed to live near white people. They could not marry white people. They could not share whites' toilets, restaurants, sports arenas, or bars. They had to carry passes. They were treated like animals."

"It was horrible," Matt said.

"It was wonderful!" Mrs. Stenavich murmured.

"It was indeed perfect," Dr. Sorrow agreed. "But as the years passed, I became aware that it would also be short lived. The uprising at Soweto, the growing resistance, and the way the entire world-including your own stinking country-ganged up on us ... I knew that white South Africa was doomed, and I even foresaw the day when power would be handed over to a man like Nelson Mandela."

'A criminal!" Mrs. Stenavich added. Smoke was dribbling out of her nostrils. Matt said nothing. It was clear enough that both Dr. Sorrow and his assistant were mad. Just how mad they were was becoming clearer with every word they spoke.

"I looked at the world," Dr. Sorrow said, "and I began to see just how weak and pathetic it was becoming. How could it happen that a country like mine could be given away to people who had no idea how to run it and why was the rest of the world so determined for it to be so? I looked around me and I saw that the people of America and Europe had become stupid and weak. The fall of the Berlin Wall only made things worse. I had always admired the Russians, but they quickly became infected with the same disease. And I thought to myself, If I ruled the world, how much stronger it would be. How much better. . . "

"For you, perhaps, Dr. Sorrow," Matt said. "But not for anyone else." Sorrow ignored him. His eyes, behind the red glasses, were brilliant.

"It has been the dream of very few men to rule the entire world," he said. "Hitler was one. Napoleon another. Stalin, perhaps, a third. Great men! Remarkable men! But to rule the world in the twenty-first century requires something more than military strength. The world is a more complicated place now. Where does real power lie? Oh, yes-in politics. Prime ministers and presidents. But you will also find power in industry, in science, in the media, in oil, in the Internet... Modern life is a great tapestry, and if you wish to take control of it all, you must seize hold of every strand. "This is what I decided to do, Matt. And it was because of my unique position in the unique place that was South Africa that I was able to attempt it." Sorrow took a deep breath. "What do you know about nuclear transplantation?" he asked.

"I don't know anything," Matt said. "But as you said, I'm a Japanese schoolboy. Lazy and ignorant."

"There is another word for it. Have you heard of cloning?" Matt almost burst out laughing.

"You mean, like Dolly the sheep?"

"To you it may be a joke, Matt. Something out of science fiction. But scientists have been searching for a way to create replicas of themselves for more than a hundred years. The word itself is Greek."

"The Greek word for twig," Mrs. Stenavich muttered.

"Think how a twig starts as one branch but then splits into two," Sorrow continued. "This is exactly what has been achieved with lizards, with sea urchins, with tadpoles and frogs, with mice and-yes-on the fifth of July, 1996, with a sheep. The theory is simple enough. Nuclear transplantation: to take the nucleus out of an egg and to replace it with a cell taken from an adult. I won't tire you with the details, Matt. But it is not a joke. Dolly was the perfect copy of a sheep that had died six years earlier. She was the result of no less than one hundred years of experimentation. And in all that time, the scientists shared a single dream: to clone an adult human. Well ... I have achieved that dream!"

He paused.

"If you want a round of applause, you'll have to take off the handcuffs," Matt said.

"I don't want applause," Sorrow snarled. "Not from you. What I want from you is your life, and that I will take."

"So who did you clone?" Matt asked. "Not Mrs. Stenavich, I hope. I'd have thought one of her was more than enough." Mrs. Stenavich swiftly punched matt in the stomach. Matt groaned in pain as he felt the full force of it.

"Who do you think? I cloned myself!" Dr. Sorrow grabbed hold of the arms of his chair, a king on a throne of his own imagination. "Twenty years ago I began my work," he explained. "I told you-I was minister of science. I had all the equipment and money I needed. Also, this was South Africa! The rules that hampered other scientists around the world did not apply to me. I was able to use human beings-political prisoners-for my experiments. Everything was done in secret. I worked without stopping for twenty years. And then, when I was ready, I stole a very large amount of money from the South African government and moved here.

"This was in 1981. And seven years later, almost a whole decade before an English scientist astonished the world by cloning a sheep, I did something far, far more extraordinary ... here, I made Ombre Académie. I cloned myself. Not just once! Sixteen times. Sixteen exact copies of me. With my looks. My brains. My ambition. And my determination."

"Were they all as mad as you too?" Matt asked, and he flinched as Mrs. Stenavich hit him again. But he wanted to make them angry. If they were angry, they might make mistakes.

"To begin with, they were babies' " Dr. Sorrow said. "Sixteen babies who would grow up to become replicas of myself. I have had to wait fifteen years for the babies to become boys and the boys to become teenagers. Eva here has been a mother to all of them. You have met them ... some of them."

"Jacco, Aidan, Kevin, James, John. And Jamie..." Now Matt understood why they had somehow all looked the same. "Do you see, Matt? Do you have any idea what I have done? I will never die because even when this body is finished with, I will live on in them. I am them and they are me. We are one and the same. They are like my shadow." He smiled again. "I was helped in all this by Eva, who had also worked with me in the South African government. She had worked in BOSS-our own secret service. She was one of their principal interrogators."

"Happy days!" Mrs. Stenavich muttered.

"Together we set up the academy. Because, you see, that was the second part of my plan. I had created sixteen copies of myself. But that wasn't enough. You remember what I said about the strands of the tapestry? I had to bring them here, to draw them together."

"To replace them with copies of yourself!" Suddenly Matt saw it all. It was totally insane. But it was the only way to make sense of everything he had seen. Dr. Sorrow nodded.

"It was my observation that families with wealth and power frequently had children who were troubled. Parents with no time for their sons. Sons with no love for their parents. These children became my targets, Matt. Because, you see, I wanted what these children had.

"Take a boy like Jacco van dijk. One day his father will leave him with a fifty percent stake in the world's diamond market. Or Aidan Bouchard. His mother has newspapers all over the world. Or John Kent. His father at the Pentagon, his mother a senator. What better start for a life in politics? What better start for a future president of the United States, even? Fifteen of the most promising children who have been sent here to Ombre Académie, I have replaced with copies of myself. Surgically altered, of course, to look exactly like the original thing."

"Baxter ... the man you shot . . how does he fit into all this?"

"You have been busy, Matt." For the first time, Dr. Sorrow looked surprised. "The late Mr. Baxter was a plastic surgeon. I found him working in Harley Street, in London. He had gambling debts. It was easy to bring him under my control, and it was his job to operate on my family, to change their faces, their skin colour, and where necessary their bodies so that they would exactly resemble the teenagers they replaced. From the moment the real teenagers arrived here at Ombre Académie, they were kept under observation."

"With identical rooms on the third and fourth floors."

"'Yes. My doubles were able to watch their targets on television monitors. To copy their every movement. To learn their mannerisms. To eat like them. To speak like them. In short, to become just like them, their own shadows, hence the name…Project Shadow.

" It would never have worked!" Matt twisted in his chair, trying to find some leverage in the handcuffs. But the metal was too tight. He couldn't move. "Parents would know that the children you sent back were fakes!" he insisted. "Any mother would know it wasn't her son, even if he looked the same." Mrs. Stenavich giggled. She had finished her cigar. Now she lit another.

"You're quite wrong, Matt," Dr. Sorrow said. "In the first place, you are talking about busy, hardworking parents who had little or no time for their children in the first place. And you forget that the very reason these people sent their sons here was because they wanted them to change. It is the reason all parents send their sons to private schools. Oh, yes, they think the schools will make their children better, more clever, more confident. They would actually be disappointed if those children came back the same. "And nature, too, is on our side. A boy of fifteen leaves home for six or seven months. By the time he gets back, nature will have made its mark. The boy will be taller. He will be fatter or thinner. Even his voice will have changed. It's all part of puberty, and the parents when they see him will say, 'Oh,

John, you've gotten so big, and you're so grown-up!' And they will suspect nothing. In fact, they would be worried if the boy hadn't changed."

"But Jones guessed, didn't he?" Matt knew that he had arrived at the truth, the reason he had been sent here in the first place. He knew why Jones and Vanko had died.

"There have been two occasions when the parents did not believe what they saw," Dr. Sorrow admitted. "Paul A. jones in New York. And General Major Anton Vanko in Moscow. Neither man completely guessed what had happened. But they were unhappy. They argued with their sons. They asked too many questions."

"And the sons told you what had happened."

"You might say that I told myself. The sons, after all, are me. But yes. Paul Jones knew something was wrong and called JIN 7 in Tomoeda. I presume that is how you were unlucky enough to be involved. I had to pay to have Jones killed just as I paid for the death of Vanko. But it was to be expected that there would be problems. Two out of sixteen is not so catastrophic, and of course it makes no difference to my plans. In many ways, it even helps me. Paul A. Jones left his entire fortune to his son. And I understand that the Russian president is taking a personal interest in Dimitry Vanko, following the loss of his father. "In short, the Shadow Project has been an outstanding success. In a few days' time, the last of the children will leave Ombre Académie to take their places in the heart of their family. Once I am satisfied that they have all been accepted, I will, I fear, have to dispose of the originals. They will die painlessly. "The same cannot be said for you, Matt Ishida. You have caused me a great deal of annoyance. I propose, therefore, to make an example of you " Dr Sorrow reached into his pocket and took out a device that looked like a pager. It contained a single button, which he pressed. "What is the first lesson tomorrow morning, Eva?" he asked.

"Biology," Mrs. Stenavich replied.

"As I thought. You have perhaps been to biology classes where a frog or a rat has been dissected, Matt?" he asked. "For some time now, my children have been asking to see a human dissection. This is no surprise to me. I myself first attended a human dissection at the age of fifteen. Tomorrow morning, at half past nine, their wish will be granted. You will be brought into the laboratory and we shall open you up and have a look at you. We will not use aesthetic, and it will be interesting to see how long you survive before your heart gives out. And then, of course, we shall dissect your heart."

"You're sick!" Matt yelled. Now he was thrashing about in the chair, trying to break the wood, trying to get the handcuffs to come apart. But it was hopeless. The metal cut into him. The chair rocked but stayed in one piece. "You're a madman!"

"I am a scientist!" Dr. Sorrow spat the words. "And that is why I am giving you a scientific death. At least in your last minutes you will have been of some use to me." He looked past Matt. "Take him away and search him thoroughly. Then lock him up for the night. I'll see him again first thing tomorrow morning." Matt had seen Dr. Sorrow summon the guards, but he hadn't heard them come in. He was seized from behind, the handcuffs were unlocked, and he was jerked backward out of the room. His last sight of Dr. Sorrow was of the man stretching out his hands to warm them in the fire, the twisting flames reflected in his glasses. Mrs. Stenavich smiled and blew out smoke. Then the door slammed shut and Matt was dragged down the corridor knowing that Ooishi and the secret service had to be on their way, but wondering whether they would arrive before it was too late.


	16. Shadow Run

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 16: Shadow Run**

The cell measured six feet by twelve and contained a bunk bed with no mattress and a chair.

Moonlight slanted in through a small, heavily barred window high up on the wall. The door was solid steel. Matt had heard a key turn in the lock after it was closed. He had not been given anything to eat or drink. The cell was cold, but there were no blankets on the bed.

At least the guards had left the handcuffs off. They had searched Matt expertly, removing everything they had found in his pockets. They had also removed his belt and the laces of his shoes. Perhaps Dr. Sorrow had thought he would hang himself. He needed Matt fresh and alive for the biology lesson.

"Not unless I can take him with me." He remarked. It was about two o'clock in the morning, but Matt hadn't slept. He had tried to put it out of his mind everything Sorrow had told him. That wasn't important now. He knew that he had to escape before 9:30 because-like it or not-it seemed he was on his own. More than thirty-six hours had passed since he had pressed the panic button that Samantha had given him, and nothing had happened. Either the machine hadn't worked or for some reason JIN 7 had decided not to come. Of course, it was possible that something might happen before breakfast the next day. But Matt wasn't prepared to risk it. He had to get out. Tonight.

For the twentieth time he went over to the door and knelt down, listening carefully. The guards had dragged him back down to the basement. He was in a corridor separate from the other prisoners. Although everything had happened very quickly, Matt had tried to remember where he had been taken. Out of the elevator and to the left. Around the corner and then down a second passageway to a door at the end. He was on his own. And listening through the door, he was fairly sure that they hadn't posted a guard outside. Matt had one bit of hope to cling to. When the guards had searched him, they hadn't quite taken everything. Neither of them had even noticed the diamond stud in his ear. What had Samantha said?

"It's a small but very powerful explosive device, like a miniature grenade. Separating the two pieces activates it. Count to ten and it'll blow a hole in just about anything." Now was the time to put it to the test. Matt reached up and unscrewed the ear stud. He pulled it out of his ear, slipped the two pieces into the keyhole of the door, stepped back, and counted to ten.

Nothing happened. Was the stud broken, like the Discman transmitter? Matt was about to give up when there was a sudden flash, an intense sheet of orange flame. Fortunately there was no noise. The flare continued for about five seconds, then went out. Matt went back to the door. The stud had burned a hole in it, the size of a five hundred yen coin. The melted metal was still glowing. Matt reached out and pushed. The door swung open. Matt felt a momentary surge of excitement, but he forced himself to remain calm. He might be out of the cell, but he was still in the basement of the academy. There were guards everywhere. He was on top of a mountain with no skis and no obvious way down. He wasn't safe yet. Not by a long way. He slipped out of the room and followed the corridor back around to the elevator. He was tempted to find the other boys and release them, but he knew they couldn't help.

Taking them out of their cells would only put them in danger. Somehow, he found his way back to the elevator. He noticed that the guard post he had seen that morning was empty. Either the man had gone to make himself coffee or Sorrow had relaxed security in the academy. With Matt and all the other boys locked up, there was nobody left to guard. Or so they thought. Matt hurried forward. He took the elevator back to the second floor. He knew that his only way off the mountain lay in his bedroom. Sorrow would certainly have examined everything he had brought with him. But what would he have done with it? Matt crept down the dimly lit corridor and into the room. And there it all was, lying in a heap on his bed. The ski suit. The goggles. Even the Discman with the Mozart CD. Matt heaved a sigh of relief. He was going to need all of it. He had already worked out what he was going to do. He couldn't ski off the mountain because he still had no idea where the skis were kept. But there was more than one way to take to the snow. Matt froze as a guard walked along the corridor outside the room. So not everyone at the academy was asleep! He would have to move fast. As soon as the broken cell door was discovered, the alarm would be raised.

He waited until the guard had gone, then stole into the laundry room a few doors down. When he came out, he was carrying a long, flat object made of lightweight aluminium. He carried it into his bedroom, closed the door, and turned on one small lamp. He was afraid the guard would see the light if he returned. But he couldn't work in the dark. It was a risk he had to take. He had stolen an ironing board. Matt had been snowboarding only three times in his life. The first time, he had spent most of the day falling or sitting on his butt. Snowboarding is a lot harder to learn than skiing, but as soon as you get the hang of it, you can advance fast. By the third day, Matt had learned how to ride, edging and cutting his way down the beginner slopes. He needed a snowboard now. The ironing board would have to do. He picked up the Discman and turned it on. The Mozart CD spun, then slid forward, its diamond edge jutting out. Matt made a mental calculation, and then began to cut. The ironing board was wider than he would have liked. He knew that the longer the board, the faster he could go, but if he left it too long, he would have no control. The ironing board was flat. Without any curve at the front-or the nose, as it was called-he would be at the mercy of every bump or upturned root. He pressed down. The spinning disc sliced through the metal. Carefully, Matt drew it around, forming a curve.

One end of the ironing board fell away. He picked up the other. It came up to his chest. Perfect. Now he sliced off the supports, leaving about six inches sticking up. He knew that the rider and the board can work together only if the bindings are right, and he had nothing ... no boots, no straps, and no high back to support his heel. He was just going to have to improvise. He tore two strips of sheet from the bed, then slipped into his ski suit. He would have to tie one of his sneakers to what was left of the ironing board supports. It was horribly dangerous. If he fell, he would dislocate his foot. But he was almost ready. Quickly, Matt zipped up the ski suit. Samantha had said it was bulletproof, and it occurred to him that he was probably going to need it. He put the goggles around his neck. The window still hadn't been repaired. He dropped the ironing board out, then climbed out after it. There was no moon. Matt found the switch concealed in the goggles and turned it. He heard a soft hum as the concealed battery activated. Suddenly the side of the mountain glowed an eerie green and

Matt was able to see the trees, the deserted ski run, and the side of the mountain, falling away. Carefully, he took up his position on the ironing board, his right foot at forty degrees, and his left foot at twenty. He was goofy-footed. That was what the instructor had told him. His feet should have been the other way around. But this was no time to worry about technique. Instead, he used the strips of torn sheet to tie the ironing board to his feet, then he stood where he was, contemplating what he was about to do. He had only travelled down green and blue runs the colours given to the beginners' and intermediate slopes. He knew from Jamie that this mountain was an expert black all the way down. A Shadow Run. His breath rose up in green clouds in front of his eyes. Could he do it? Could he trust himself?

An alarm bell exploded behind him. Lights came on throughout the academy. Matt pushed forward, and set off picking up speed with every second. The decision had been made for him. Now, whatever happened, there could be no going back.

Dr. Sorrow, wearing a long silver dressing gown, stood beside the open window in Matt's room. Mrs. Stenavich was also wearing a dressing gown. Hers was pink silk and looked strangely hideous, hanging off her lumpy body. Three guards stood watching them, waiting for instructions.

"Who searched the boy?" Dr. Sorrow asked. He had already been shown the cell door with the circular hole burned into the lock. None of the guards answered, but their faces had gone pale. "This is a question to be answered in the morning," Dr. Sorrow continued. "For now, all that matters is that we find him and kill him."

"He must be walking down the mountainside," Mrs. Stenavich said. "He has no skis. He won't make it. We can wait until morning and pick him up in the helicopter."

"I think the boy may be more inventive than we believe." Dr. Sorrow picked up the remains of the ironing board. "You see? He has improvised some sort of sleigh or toboggan. All right. . . " He had come to a decision. Mrs. Stenavich was glad to see the certainty return to his eyes. "I want two men on snowmobiles, following him down. Now!" One of the guards hurried out of the room.

"What about the unit at the foot of the mountain?" Mrs. Stenavich said.

"Indeed." Dr. Sorrow smiled. He had always kept a man and a driver at the end of the last valley in case anybody ever tried to leave the academy on skis. It was a precaution that was about to pay off. "Matt Ishida will have to arrive in La Vallee de Fer. Whatever he's using to get down, he'll be unable to cross the railway line. We can have a machine gun set up, waiting for him. Assuming he does manage to get that far, he'll be a sitting duck."

"Excellent," Mrs. Stenavich purred.

"I would have liked to watch him die. But, yes. The Ishida boy has no hope at all. And we can return to bed."

Matt was on the edge of space, seemingly falling to his certain death. In snowboarding language, he was catching air, meaning that he had shot away from the ground. With every foot he went forward, the mountainside disappeared another five feet downward. He felt the world spin around him. Wind whipped into his face. Then somehow he had brought himself in line with the next section of the slope and shot down, steering the ironing board ever farther from Point Blanc. He was moving at a terrifying speed, trees and rock formations passing in a luminous green blur across his night-vision goggles. In some ways, the steeper slopes made it easier. Once, he had tried to make a landing on a flat part of the mountain-a table top-to slow himself down. He had hit the ground with such a bone-shattering crash that he had almost blacked out and had taken the next twenty yards almost totally blind. The ironing board was shuddering and shaking crazily, and it took all his strength to make the turns. He was trying to follow the natural fall line of the mountain, but there were too many obstacles in the way. What he most dreaded was melted snow. If the board landed on a patch of mud at this speed, he would be thrown and killed. And he knew that the farther down he went, the greater the danger would become. But he had been traveling for several minutes and so far he had fallen only twice-both times into thick banks of snow that had protected him. How far down could it be? He tried to remember what Jamie Spurtz had told him, but thinking was impossible at this speed. He had to use every ounce of his conscious thought simply to stay upright. He reached a small lip where the surface was level and drove the edge of the board into the snow, bringing himself to a skidding halt. Ahead of him, the ground fell away again alarmingly. He hardly dared look down. There were thick clumps of trees to the left and to the right. In the distance there was just a green blur. The goggles could see only so far. And then he heard the sound coming up behind him. The scream of at least two-maybe more-engines. Matt looked back over his shoulder. For a moment there was nothing. But then he saw them, black flies swimming into his field of vision. There were two of them, heading his way. Sorrow's men were riding specially adapted Yamaha Mountain Max snowmobiles equipped with 700 cc triple cylinder engines.

The bikes were flying over the ice on their 141 -inch tracks, effortlessly moving five times faster than Matt. The 300-watt headlights had already picked him up. Now the men sped toward him, halving the distance between them with almost every second that passed. Matt leapt forward, diving into the next slope. At the same time, there was a sudden chatter, a series, of distant cracks and the snow flew up all around him. Sorrow's men had machine guns built into their snowmobiles! Matt yelled as he swooped down the mountainside, barely able to control the sheet of metal under his feet. The makeshift binding was tearing at his ankles. The whole thing was vibrating crazily. He couldn't see. He could only hang on, trying to keep his balance, hoping that the way ahead was clear. The headlights of the nearest Yamaha shot out, and Matt saw his own shadow, stretching ahead of him on the snow. '_Even your shadow could be your greatest enemy._' Part of Minos conversation flashed in his mind, this was something else she had meant.

There was another chatter from the machine gun and Matt ducked, almost feeling the fan of bullets spray over his head. The second bike screamed up, coming parallel with him. He had to get off the mountainside. Otherwise he would be shot or run over. Or both. He forced the board onto its edge, making a turn. He had seen a gap in the trees and he made for it. Now he was racing through the forest, with branches and trunks whipping past like crazy animations in a computer game. Could the snowmobiles follow him through here? The question was answered by another burst from the machine gun, ripping through the leaves and branches. Matt searched for a narrower path. The board shuddered, and he was almost thrown headfirst. The snow was getting thinner! He edged and turned, heading for two of the thickest trees. He passed between them with inches to spare. The Yamaha snowmobile had no choice. The rider had run out of paths, and was traveling too fast to stop. He tried to follow Matt between the trees, but the snowmobile was too wide. Matt heard the collision. There was a terrible crunch, then a scream, then an explosion. A ball of orange flame leapt over the trees, sending the black shadows in a crazy dance. Ahead of him, Matt saw another hillock and beyond it, a gap in the trees. It was time to leave the forest. He swooped up the hillock and out, once again catching air. As he left the trees behind him, six feet in the air, he saw the second snowmobile. It had caught up with him. For a moment, the two of them were side by side. Matt doubled forward and grabbed the nose of his board. Still in mid-air, he twisted the tip of the board, bringing the tail swinging around. He had timed it perfectly. The tail slammed into the second rider's head, almost throwing him out of his seat. Matt fought for balance. The rider yelled and lost control. His snowmobile jerked sideways as if trying to make an impossibly tight turn. Then it left the ground, cartwheeling over and over.

The rider was thrown off, then screamed as the snowmobile completed its final turn and landed on top of him. Man and machine bounced across the surface of the snow and lay still. Meanwhile, Matt had slammed into the snow and skidded to a halt, his breath clouding, green, in front of his eyes. A minute later, he pushed off again. Ahead of him, he could see that all the trails were leading into a single valley. This must be the bottleneck called La Vallee de Fa. He'd actually done it! He'd reached the bottom of the mountain but now he was trapped. There was no other way around. He could see lights in the distance. A city. Safety. But he could also see the railway line stretching right across the valley, from the left to the right, protected on both sides by an embankment and a barbed-wire fence. The glow from the city illuminated everything. On one side the track came out of the mouth of a tunnel. It ran for about a hundred yards in a straight line before a sharp bend carried it around the other side of the valley and it disappeared from sight. The two men in the grey van saw Matt snowboarding toward them. They were parked on a road on the other side of the railway line and had been waiting only a few minutes. They hadn't seen the explosion and wondered what had happened to the two men on their snowmobiles. But that wasn't their concern. Their orders were to kill the boy. And there he was, right out in the open, expertly managing the last slope down through the valley. Every second brought him closer to them. There was nowhere for him to hide. The machine gun was a Belgian FN MAG and would cut him in half. Matt saw the van. He saw the machine gun aimed at him. He couldn't stop. It was too late to change direction. He had come this far, but now he was finished. He felt the strength draining out of him.

Where was JIN 7? Why did he have to die, out here, on his own? And then there was a sudden blast as a train exploded out of the tunnel. It was a freight train, traveling about twenty miles an hour. It had at least thirty train cars being pulled by a diesel engine, and it formed a moving wall between Matt and the gun, protecting him. But it would be there only a few seconds. He had to move fast. Barely knowing what he was doing, Matt found a last mound of snow and, using it as a launch pad, swept up into the air. Now he was level with the train ... now above it. He shifted his weight and came down onto the roof of one of the cars. The surface was covered in ice, and for a moment he thought he would fall off the other side, but he managed to swing around so that he was snowboarding along the roofs of the cars, jumping from one to another while being swept along the track-away from the gun-in a blast of freezing air. He had done it! He had gotten away! He was still sliding forward, the train adding its speed to his own. No snowboarder had ever moved so fast. But then the train reached the bend in the track. The board had nothing to keep it from sliding on the icy surface. As the train sped around to the left, centrifugal force threw Matt to the right. Once again he soared into the air. But he had finally run out of snow. Matt hit the ground like a rag doll. The snowboard was torn off his feet. He bounced twice, and then hit a wire fence, the razor sharp wire cut into his head. He then rolled and came to rest on the tracks with blood spreading around a deep gash in his head. His eyes were closed.

The train ploughed on through the night.

Matt laid still.


	17. The Death of Matt Hiroku

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 17: The Death of Matt Hiroku**

The green and white ambulance raced down the Avenue Maquis de Gresivaudan in the north of Grenoble, heading toward the river. It was five o'clock in the morning and there was no traffic yet, no need for the siren. Just before the river it turned off into a compound of ugly, modern buildings. This was the second-biggest hospital in the city. The ambulance pulled up outside SERVICE DES URGENCES-the emergency room. Paramedics ran toward it as the back doors flew open. Mrs. Jensen got out of her taxi and watched as the limp, unmoving body of a boy was lowered on a stretcher, transferred to a gurney, and rushed in through the double doors. There was already a saline drip attached to his arm, and an oxygen mask covered his face. It had been snowing up in the mountains, but down here there was only a dull drizzle sweeping across the pavements. A doctor in a white coat was bending over the stretcher. He sighed and shook his head. Mrs. Jensen had seen this. She crossed the road and followed the stretcher in. She was beside the boy, realizing her worst fears; Matt Ishida was unconscious and was losing a lot of blood. A thin man with close-cropped hair wearing a black sweater and vest had also been watching the hospital. He saw Mrs. Jensen without knowing who she was. He had also seen Matt. He took out a cell phone and made a call. Dr. Sorrow would want to know...

Three hours later, the sun had risen over the city. Grenoble is largely modern, and even with its perfect mountain setting, it still struggles to be attractive. On this damp, cloudy day it was clearly failing. Outside the hospital, another car drew up and Eva Stenavich got out. She was wearing a silver -and -white -checked suit with a hat perched on her ginger hair. She carried a leather handbag, and for once she had put on makeup. She wanted to look elegant. She looked like a man in drag. She walked into the hospital and found the main reception desk. A young nurse sat behind a bank of telephones and computer screens. Mrs. Stenavich addressed her in fluent French.

"Excuse me," she said. "I understand that a young boy was brought here this morning. His name is Matt Hiroku."

"One moment, please." The nurse entered the name in her computer. She read the information on the screen and her face became serious. "May I ask who you are?"

"I am the assistant director of the Academy at Ombre Académie. He is one of our students."

"Are you aware of the extent of his injuries, Madame?"

"I was told that he was involved in a snowboard accident." Mrs. Stenavich took out a small handkerchief and dabbed at her eye.

"He tried to snowboard down the mountain at night. He was involved in a collision with a train. His injuries are very serious, Madame. The doctors are operating on him now."

Mrs. Stenavich nodded, swallowing her tears.

"My name is Eva Stenavich," she said. "May I wait for any news?"

"Of course, Madame." Mrs. Stenavich took a seat in the reception area. For the next hour, she watched as people came and went, some walking, some in wheelchairs. There were other people waiting for news of other patients. One of them, she noticed ' was a serious -looking woman with badly cut black hair and very black eyes. She was no doubt from Japan, as she was periodically glancing at a copy of the Tomoeda Times. Then a door opened and a doctor in a white coat came out. Doctors have a certain face when they come to give bad news. This doctor had it now.

"Madame Stenavich?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"You are the director of the school?"

"The assistant director. Yes." The doctor sat next to her.

"I am very sorry, Madame. Matt Hiroku died a few minutes ago." He waited while she absorbed the news. "He had multiple fractures: his arms, his collarbone, his leg. He had also fractured his skull. We operated, but unfortunately there had been massive internal bleeding. He went into shock and we were unable to bring him around." Mrs. Stenavich nodded, struggling for words.

"I must notify his family," she whispered.

"Is he from this country?"

"No. He is Japanese. His father ... George Hiroku ... I'll have to tell him." Mrs. Stenavich got to her feet. "Thank you, Doctor. I'm sure you did everything you could."

Out of the corner of her eye, Mrs. Stenavich noticed that the woman with the black hair had also stood up, letting her newspaper fall to the floor. She had overheard the conversation. She looked shocked. Both women left the hospital at the same time. Neither of them spoke.

The aircraft waiting on the runway was a Lockheed Martin C- 130 Hercules. It had landed just after midday. Now it waited beneath the clouds while three vehicles drove toward it. One was a police car, one a jeep, and one an ambulance. The Saint-Geoirs airport at Grenoble does not see many international flights, but the plane had flown out yesterday morning from Japan. From the other side of the perimeter fence, Mrs. Stenavich watched through a pair of high powered binoculars. A small military escort had been formed. Four men in French uniforms had lifted up a coffin that seemed pathetically small when balanced on their broad shoulders. The coffin was simple: pine wood with silver handles. A Japanese flag was folded into a square in the middle. The red disk lay in the middle of the coffin. Marching in time, they carried the coffin toward the waiting plane. Mrs. Stenavich focused the binoculars and saw the woman from the hospital. She had been traveling in the police car. She stood watching as the coffin was loaded into the plane, then got back into the car and was driven away. By now, Mrs. Stenavich knew who she was. Dr. Sorrow kept extensive files and had quickly identified her as Mrs. Jensen, head of Special Operations for JIN 7 and number two to its chief, Korindo Ooishi. Mrs. Stenavich stayed until the end. The doors of the plane were closed. The jeep and the ambulance left. The plane's propellers began to turn, and it lumbered forward onto the runway. A few minutes later it took off. As it thundered into the air, the clouds opened as if to receive it, and for a moment its silver wings were bathed in brilliant sunlight. Then the clouds rolled back and the plane disappeared. Mrs. Stenavich dialled a number on her cell phone and waited until she was connected.

"The little swine is dead," she said. She got back into her car and drove away.

After Mrs. Jensen left the airport, she returned to the hospital and took the stairs to the second floor. She came to a pair of doors guarded by a policeman, who nodded and let her pass through. On the other side was a corridor leading to a private wing. She walked down to a door, this one also guarded by a policeman. She didn't knock, but went straight in.

"You know, you're very lucky to be alive. You should at least broken something." She said to the figure standing by the window. Matt Ishida was standing by the window, looking out at the view of Grenoble on the other side of the River Isere. High above him, five steel and glass bubbles moved slowly along a cable, ferrying tourists up to the Fort de la Bastille. He turned around as Mrs. Jensen came in. There was a band age around his head, but otherwise he seemed unhurt.

"I thought I was dead," Matt replied.

"Let's hope that Dr. Sorrow believes as much." Despite herself, Mrs. Jensen couldn't keep the worry out of her eyes. "It really was a miracle," she said.

"Madison's ski suit protected me," Matt said. He tried to think back to the whirling, desperate moment when he had been thrown off the train. "There was undergrowth. And the fence sort of caught me." He rubbed his leg and winced. "Even if it was barbed wire." He walked back to the bed and sat down. After they had finished examining him, the French doctors had brought him fresh clothes. Military clothes, he noticed. Combat jacket and trousers. He hoped they weren't trying to tell him something. "I've got three questions," he said. "But let's start with the big one. I called for help two days ago. Where were you?"

"I'm very sorry, Matt," Mrs. Jensen said. "There were ... logistical problems."

"Yes? Well, while you were having your logistical problems, Dr. Sorrow was getting ready to cut me up!"

"We couldn't just storm the academy. That could have gotten you killed. It could have gotten you all… killed. We had to move in slowly try to work out what was going on. How do you think we found you so quickly?"

"That was my second question." Mrs. Jensen shrugged.

"We've had people in the mountains ever since we got your signal. They've been closing in on the academy. They heard the machine-gun fire when the snowmobiles were chasing you and followed you down on skis. They saw what happened with the train and radioed for help."

"All right. So why all the business with the funeral? Why do you want Dr. Sorrow to think I'm dead?"

"That's simple, Matt. From what you've told us, he's keeping fifteen boys prisoner in the academy. These are the boys that he plans to replace." She shook her head. "I have to say, it's the most incredible thing I've ever heard. And I wouldn't have believed it if I'd heard it from anyone else except you."

"You're too kind," Matt muttered.

"If Dr. Sorrow thought you'd survived last night, the first thing he would do is kill every one of those boys. Or perhaps he'd use them as hostages. We had only one hope if we were going to take him by surprise. He had to believe you were dead."

"If we're going to take him by surprise?"

"We're going in tonight. I told you. We've assembled an attack squad here in Grenoble. They were up in the mountains last night. They plan to set off as soon as it's dark. They're armed and they're experienced." Mrs. Jensen hesitated. "There's just one thing they don't have."

"And what's that?" Matt asked, feeling a sudden sense of unease.

"They need someone who knows the building," Mrs. Jensen said. "The library, the secret elevator, the placement of the guards, the passage with the cells . . ."

"Oh, no!" Matt exclaimed. Now he understood the military clothes. "Forget it! I'm not going back up there. I almost got killed trying to get away! Do you think I'm crazy?"

"Matt, you'll be looked after. You'll be completely safe."

"No!" Mrs. Jensen nodded.

"All right. I can understand your feelings. But there's someone I want you to meet." As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. It opened to reveal a young man, also in combat dress.

The man was well built with black hair, square shoulders, and a dark, watchful face. He was in his late twenties. He saw Matt and shook his head. "Well, well, well. There's a surprise," he said. "How's it going, Cub?" Matt recognized him at once. It was the soldier he had known as Dragon. When JIN 7 had sent him for eleven days' SAT training in the Nagano Prefecture, Dragon had been in charge of his unit. If training had been hell, Dragon had only made it worse, picking on Matt from the start and almost getting him thrown out. In the end, though, it had been Dragon who had nearly lost his place with the SAT, and Matt who had saved him.

But Matt still wasn't sure where that left him, and the other man was giving nothing away.

"Dragon!" Matt said.

"I heard you got busted up." Dragon shrugged. "I'm sorry. I forgot the flowers and the fruit basket."

"What are you doing here?" Matt asked.

"They called me in to clear up the mess you left behind."

"So where were you when I was being chased down the mountain?"

"It seems you were doing fine on your own." Mrs. Jensen took over.

"Matt has done a very good job up to now," she said. "But the fact is that there are fifteen young prisoners up at Ombre Académie and our first priority must be to save them. From what Matt has told us, we know there are about thirty guards in and around the school. The only chance those boys have is for an SAT unit to break in. It's happening tonight." She turned to Matt. "The unit will be commanded by Dragon." The SAT never uses rank when it is on active service. Mrs. Jensen was careful only to use Dragon's code name.

"Where does the boy come into this?" Dragon demanded.

"He knows the school He knows the position of the guards and the location of the prison cells. He can lead you to the elevator."

"He can tell us everything we need to know here and now," Dragon interrupted. He turned to Mrs. Jensen. "We don't need a kid," he said. "He's just going to be baggage. We're going in on skis. There'll be blood. I can't waste one of my men holding his hand."

"I don't need to have my hand held," Matt retorted angrily. "She's right. I know more about Ombre Académie than any of you. I've been there-and I got out of there, no thanks to you. Also, I've met some of those boys. One of them is a friend of mine. I promised I'd help him, and I will."

"Not if you get killed."

"I can look after myself!"

"Then it's agreed," Mrs. Jensen said. "Matt will lead you in there, but then will take no further part in the operation. And as for his safety, Dragon, I will hold you personally responsible."

"Personally responsible. Right," Dragon growled.

Matt couldn't resist a smile. He'd held his ground, and he'd be going back in with the SAT. Then he realized what had happened. A few moments ago, he'd been arguing violently against doing just that. He glanced at the head of Special Operations. She'd manipulated him, of course, bringing Dragon into the room. And she knew it Dragon nodded.

"All right, Cub," he said. "Looks like you're in. Let's go and play."

"Sure, Dragon," Matt sighed. "Let's go and play."


	18. Shadow Storm

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 18: Shadow Storm**

They came skiing down from the mountain. There were seven of them, Dragon in front, Matt at his side. The other five men followed behind. They had changed into white trousers, jackets, and hoods camouflage that would help them blend into the snow. A helicopter had dropped them two miles north and two hundred yards above Ombre Académie, and equipped with night-vision goggles, they had quickly made their way down. The weather had settled again. The moon was out. Despite himself, Matt enjoyed the journey, the whisper of the skis cutting through the ice, the empty mountainside bathed in white light. And he was part of a crack SAT unit. He felt safe. But then the academy loomed up below him, and once again he shivered. Before they had left, he had asked for a gun, but Dragon had shaken his head.

"I'm sorry, Cub. It's orders. You get us in, and then you get out of sight." It was the same old story. When they needed him, he was a man. When he asked to protect himself, he was just a kid. There were no lights showing in the building. The helicopter had arrived back from Rome, crouching on the helipad like a glittering insect. The ski jump stood to one side, dark and forgotten. There was nobody in sight. Dragon held up a hand and they sliced to a halt.

"Guards?" he whispered.

"Two patrolling. One on the roof."

"Let's take him out first." Mrs. Jensen had made her instructions absolutely clear. There was to be no bloodshed unless absolutely necessary. The mission was to get the boys out. The SAT could take care of Dr. Sorrow, Mrs. Stenavich, and the guards at a later date.

Now Dragon held out a hand and one of the other men passed him something. It was a crossbow-not the medieval sort but a sophisticated, high-tech weapon with a microflite aluminium barrel and laser scope. He loaded it with an anesthetic dart, lifted it up, and took aim. Matt saw him smile to himself. Then his finger curled and the dart flashed across the night, travelling at three hundred feet per second.

"Lights out." Matt muttered. There was a faint sound from the roof of the academy. It was as if someone had coughed. Dragon lowered the crossbow.

"One down," he said.

"Sure," Matt muttered. "And about twenty-nine to go." Dragon signalled and they continued down, more slowly now. They were about twenty yards from the school when they saw the main door open. Two men walked out, machine guns hanging from their shoulders. As one, the SAT men veered to the right, disappearing around the side of the school. They stopped within reach of the wall, dropping down to lie flat on their stomachs. Two of the men had moved slightly ahead. Matt noticed that they had kicked off their skis at the very same moment they had come to a halt. The two guards approached. One of them was talking quietly in German. Matt's face was half buried in the snow. He knew the combat clothes would make him invisible. He half lifted his head just in time to see two figures rise out of the ground like ghosts from the grave. Two blackjacks swung in the moonlight. The guards crumpled. In seconds they were tied up and gagged. They wouldn't be going anywhere that night. Dragon signalled again. The men got up and ran forward, making for the main door. Matt hastily pulled his own skis off and followed. They reached the door in a line, their backs against the wall. Dragon looked inside to make sure it was safe. He nodded. They went in.

They were back in the hall with the stone dragons and the animal heads. Matt found himself next to Dragon and quickly gave him his bearings, pointing out the different rooms.

"The library?" Dragon whispered. He was totally serious now. Matt could see the tension in his eyes.

"Through here." Dragon took a step forward, and then crouched down, his hand whipping into one of the pouches of his jacket. Another guard had appeared, patrolling the lower corridor. Dr. Sorrow was taking no more chances. Dragon waited until the man had gone past and then nodded. One of the other SAT men went after him. Matt heard a thud and the soft clatter of a gun dropping.

"So far so good," Dragon whispered.

They went into the library. Matt showed Dragon how to summon the elevator, and Dragon whistled softly as the suit of armour smoothly divided into two parts. "This is quite a place," he muttered.

"Are you going up or down?"

"Down. Let's make sure the kids are all right."

There was just room for all seven of them in the elevator. Matt had warned Dragon about the guard at the table, in sight of the elevator, and Dragon took no chances: he came out firing. In fact, two guards were there One of them was holding a mug of coffee while the other lit a cigarette. Dragon fired twice. Two more anaesthetic darts travelled the short distance along the corridor and found their targets. Again, it had all happened in almost total silence. The two guards collapsed and lay still. The SAT men stepped out into the corridor. Suddenly Matt remembered. He was angry with himself for not mentioning it before.

"You can't go into the cells," he whispered. "They're wired up for sound." Dragon nodded. "Show me!" Matt showed Dragon the passage with the steel-lined doors. Dragon pointed to two of the men. "I want you to stay here. If we're found, this is the first place Sorrow will come."

The men nodded. They understood. The rest of them went back to the elevator, up to the library, and out into the hall. Dragon turned to Matt. "We're going to have to deactivate the system," he explained. "Do you have any idea ... ?"

"This way. Sorrows' private rooms are on the other side." But before he could finish, three more guards appeared, walking down the passageway. Dragon shot one of them another anaesthetic dart-and one of his men took out the other two. But this time they were a fraction of a second too slow. Matt saw one of the guards bring his gun around. He was probably unconscious before he managed to fire. But at the last moment, his finger tightened on the trigger. Bullets sprayed upward, smashing into the ceiling, bringing plaster and wood splinters showering down. Nobody had been hit, but the damage had been done. The lights flashed on. Once again, the alarm began to ring. Twenty yards away, a door opened and more guards poured through.

"Down!" Dragon shouted. He had produced a grenade. He tugged the pin out and threw it. Matt hit the ground, and a second later there was a soft explosion as a great cloud of tear gas filled the far end of the passage. The guards staggered, blind and helpless. The SAT men quickly took them out.

Dragon grabbed hold of him and dragged him close. "Find somewhere to hide!" he shouted. "You've got us in. We'll do the rest now."

"Give me a gun!" Matt shouted back. Some of the gas had reached him, and he could feel his eyes burning.

"No. I've got orders. At the first sign of trouble, you're to get out of the way. Find somewhere safe. We'll come for you later."

"Dragon!" But Dragon was already up and running. Matt heard machine gun fire coming from somewhere below. So Dragon had been right. One of the guards had been sent to take care of the prisoners-but there had been two SAT men waiting for him. And now the rules had changed. The SAT couldn't afford to risk the lives of the prisoners. There was going to be bloodshed. Matt could only imagine the battle that must be taking place. But he was to be no part of it. His job was to hide. More explosions. More gunfire. There was a bitter taste in Matt's mouth as he made his way back to the stairs. It was typical of M16. Half the time they would happily get him killed. The other half they treated him like a child. A guard appeared suddenly, running toward the sound of the fighting. Matt's eyes were still smarting from the gas, and now he made use of it. He brought his hand up to his face, pretending to cry. The guard saw a fifteen-year-old boy in tears. He stopped. At that moment Matt twisted around on his left foot, driving the upper part of his right foot sideways into the man's stomach-the roundhouse kick or mawashigeri he had learned in karate. The guard didn't even have time to cry out. His eyes rolled and he went limp. Matt felt a little better after that. But there was still nothing more for him to do. There was another round of gunfire, then the quiet blast of a second gas grenade. Matt went into the dining room. From here he could look out through the windows at the side of the building and the helipad above. He noticed that the blades of the helicopter were turning. Somebody was inside it! He moved closer to the window. It was Dr. Sorrow! He had to let Dragon know.

He turned around.

Mrs. Stenavich was standing in front of him.

He had never seen her look less human. Her entire face was contorted with anger, her lips rolled outward, her eyes ablaze.

"You didn't t die!" she exclaimed "You're still alive!" Her voice was almost a whine, as if somehow none of it had been fair. "You brought them here. You've ruined everything!"

"That's kinda my job," Matt said.

"What was it that made me look in here?" Mrs. Stenavich giggled to herself. Matt could almost see the sanity slipping out of her. "Well, at least this is one bit of business I'm finally going to be able to finish." Matt tensed himself, feet apart, gravity centre low, just like he had been taught. But it was useless. Mrs. Stenavich lurched into him, moving with frightening speed. It was like being run over by a bus. Matt felt the full impact of her body weight, then cried out as two massive hands seized hold of him and threw him headfirst across the room. He crashed into a table, knocking it over, and then rolled out of the way as Mrs. Stenavich followed up her first attack, lashing out with a kick that would have taken his head off his shoulders if it hadn't missed by less than an inch. He scrambled to his feet and stood there, panting for breath. For a moment his vision was blurred. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. Mrs. Stenavich charged again. Matt threw himself forward, using another of the tables for leverage. His feet swung around, scything through the air, both his heels catching her on the back of the head. Anyone else would have been knocked out by the blow. But although Matt felt the jolt of it running all the way up his body, Mrs. Stenavich hardly faltered. As Matt left the table, her hands swung down, smashing through the thick wood. The table fell apart and she walked through it, grabbing him again, this time by the neck. Matt felt his feet leave the floor. With a grunt she hurled him against the wall. Matt yelled, wondering if his back had been broken. He slid to the floor. He couldn't move. Mrs. Stenavich stopped, breathing heavily. She glanced out the window. The helicopter's blades were at full speed now. The helicopter rocked forward then slowly rose into the air. It was time to go. She reached down and picked up her handbag. She took out a gun and aimed at Matt. Matt stared at her. There was nothing he could do. Mrs. Stenavich smiled.

"And this is my job, to deal with the rats," she said.

The dining room door swung open.

"Matt!" It was Dragon. He was holding a machine gun.

Mrs. Stenavich lifted the gun up and fired three shots. Each one of them hit its target. Dragon was hit in the shoulder, the arm, and the chest. But even as he fell back, he opened fire himself. The heavy bullets slammed into Mrs. Stenavich. She was hurled backward into the window, which smashed behind her. With a scream she disappeared into the night and the snow, headfirst, her heavy, stocking legs trailing behind. The shock of what had happened gave Matt new strength. He got to his feet and ran over to Dragon. The SAT man wasn't dead, but he was badly hurt, his breath rattling. "I'm okay," he managed to say. "Came looking for you. Glad I found you."

''.,,Dragon. . ."

"It's Okay." He tapped at his chest and Matt saw that he was wearing body armour under his jacket. There was blood coming from his arm, but the other two bullets hadn't reached him. "Sorrow . . . " he said. Dragon gestured, and Matt looked around. The helicopter had left its Launchpad. It was flying low outside the academy. Matt saw Dr. Sorrow in the pilot's seat. He had a gun. He fired. There was a yell, and a body fell from somewhere above. One of the SAT men had been shot. Suddenly Matt was angry. Sorrow was a freak, a monster. He was responsible for all this-and he was going to get away. Not knowing what he was doing, he snatched up Dragon's gun and ran through the broken window, past the dead body of Mrs. Stenavich and into the night. He tried to aim. The blades of the helicopter were whipping up the surface snow, blinding him, but he pointed the gun up and fired.

Nothing happened.

He pulled the trigger again.

Still nothing. Either Dragon had used all his ammunition or the gun had jammed. Dr. Sorrow pulled at the controls and the helicopter banked away, following the slope of the mountain. It was too late. Nothing could stop him.

Unless ...

Matt threw down the gun and ran forward. There was a snowmobile lying idle a few yards away, its engine still running. The man who had been riding it was lying face down in the snow. Matt leapt onto the seat and turned the throttle full on. The snowmobile roared away, skimming over the ice, following the path of the helicopter. Dr. Sorrow saw him. The helicopter slowed and turned. Sorrow raised a hand, waving goodbye. Matt caught sight of the red glasses, the slender fingers raised in one last gesture of defiance. With his hands gripping the handlebars, Matt stood up on the foot grips, tensing himself for what he knew he had to do. The helicopter moved away again, gaining altitude. In front of Matt loomed the ski jump. He was traveling at seventy, eighty miles per hour, snow and wind rushing past him. Ahead of him there was a wooden barrier, shaped like a cross.

Matt smashed through it, and then threw himself off. The snowmobile plunged down, its engine screaming. Matt rolled over and over in the snow, ice and wood splinters in his eyes and mouth. He managed to get to his knees.

The snowmobile reached the end of the ski jump. Matt watched it rocket into the air, propelled by the huge metal slide. In the helicopter, Dr. Sorrow just had time to see five hundred pounds of solid steel come hurtling toward him out of the night, its headlights blazing, its engine still screaming. His eyes, bright red, opened wide in shock. The makeshift torpedo hit its target full-on. Like a bullet fired from the shadows. The explosion lit up the entire mountain. The helicopter disappeared in a huge fireball, and then plunged down. It was still burning when it hit the ground. Behind him, Matt became aware that the shooting had stopped. The battle was over. He walked slowly back to the academy, shivering suddenly in the cold night air. As he approached, a man appeared at the broken window and waved. It was Dragon, propping himself against the wall, but still very much alive. Matt went over to him.

"What happened to Sorrow?" he asked.

"It looks like I 'sleighed' him," Matt replied.

On the slopes, the wreckage of the helicopter flickered and burned as the morning sun began to rise.

The shadows of darkness were disappearing from the Shadow Academy.

.


	19. My Shadow, My Enemy

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 19: My Shadow, My Enemy**

A few days later, matt found himself sitting opposite Korindo Ooishi in the faceless office on Orotaki Street, with Mrs. Jensen twisting another Strawberry & Cream sweet between her fingers. It was May 1, it was International Workers' Day in Japan, but somehow he knew that holidays never came to the building that called itself the Fuji TV Network. Even the spring seemed to have stopped at the window. Outside, the sun was shining. Inside, there were only shadows.

"It seems that once again we owe you a debt of thanks," Ooishi was saying.

"You don't owe me anything," Matt said. Ooishi looked genuinely puzzled. "Nonsense, you have quite possibly changed the future of this planet," he said. "Of course, Sorrows plan was monstrous, crazy. But the fact remains that his . . ." He searched for a word to describe the test-tube creations that had been sent out of Ombre Académie. ". . . his offspring could have caused a great many problems. At the very least they would have had money. God knows what they would have done had they remained undiscovered."

"What's happened to them?" Matt asked.

"We've traced all fifteen of them, and we have them under lock and key," Mrs. Jensen answered. "They were quietly arrested by the intelligence services of each country where they lived. We'll take care of them." Matt shivered. He had a feeling he knew what Mrs. Jensen had meant by those last words. And he was certain that nobody would ever see the fifteen Sorrows replicas again. "Once again, we've had to hush this up," Ooishi continued. "This whole business of ... cloning. It causes a great deal of public disquiet. Sheep are one thing-but human beings!" He coughed.

"It also seems Dr. Sorrow also did some research on advanced mutations in human cells." Mrs Jensen added. "But he gave up on the research after he found out it would benefit him, his skin cells were too human."

"If you say so." Matt said uninterested. "So what did the parents think about the school now?"

"The families involved in this business have no desire for publicity, so they won't be talking. They're just glad to have had their real sons returned to them. The same, of course, goes for you, Matt. You've already signed the Official Secrets Act. I'm sure we can trust you to be discreet." There was a moment's pause. Mrs. Jensen looked carefully at Matt. She had to admit that she was worried about him. She knew everything that had happened at Ombre Académie, how close he had come to a horrible death, only to be sent back into the academy for a second time. The boy who had come back from the French Alps was different from the one who had left. There was coldness about him, as tangible as the mountain snow.

"You did very well, Matt," she said.

"How is Dragon?" Matt asked.

"He's fine. He's still in the hospital, but the doctors say he'll make a complete recovery. We hope to have him back on operations in a few weeks."

"That's good."

"We had only one fatality in the raid on Ombre Académie. That was the man you saw falling from the roof. Dragon and another man were injured. Otherwise, it was a complete success." She paused. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

"No." Matt shook his head. He stood up. "You left me in there," he said. "I called for help and you didn't come. Sorrow was going to kill me, but you didn't care."

"That's not true, Matt." Mrs. Jensen glanced at Ooishi for support, but he didn't meet her eyes. "There were difficulties . . ."

"It doesn't matter. I just want you to know that I've had enough. I don't want to be a spy anymore, and if you ask me again, I'll refuse. I know you think you can blackmail me. But I know too much about you now, so that won't work anymore." He walked over to the door. "I used to think that being a spy would be exciting and special, like in the films. But you just used me. In a way, the two of you are as bad as Sorrow. You'll do anything to get what you want. Well, I want to go back to school. Next time, you can do it without me."

There was a long silence after Matt had left. At last Ooishi spoke.

"He'll be back," he said. Mrs. Jensen raised an eyebrow.

"You really think so?"

"He's too good at what he does-too good at the job. And it's in his blood." He stood up. "It's rather odd," he said. "Most schoolboys dream of being a spy. With Matt, we have a spy who dreams of being a schoolboy."

"Will you really use him again?" Mrs. Jensen asked.

"Of course. There was a file that came in only this morning. An interesting case. Right up his alley." He smiled. "We'll give him a few days to settle down and then we'll call him."

"He won't answer."

"We'll see," Ooishi said.

Matt walked home from the bus stop and let himself into the elegant likime house that he shared with his housekeeper and closest friend, Julie Landers. Julie knew where Matt had been and what he had been doing. But the two of them had made an agreement never to discuss his involvement with JIN 7. She didn't like it, and she worried about him. But ultimately, they both knew, there was nothing more to be said. She seemed surprised to see him.

"I thought you'd just gone out," she said.

"No."

"Did you get the message by the phone?"

"What message?"

"Mr. Saotome wants to see you this afternoon. Three o'clock at the school."

Henry Saotome was the principal at Readington. Matt wasn't surprised by the summons. Saotome was the sort of principal who managed to run a busy school and still find time to take a personal interest in every pupil there. He had been worried by Matt's long absence at the start of spring term. The fact that Matt had also missed the last two weeks of the same term had worried him more. So he had called a meeting.

"Do you want lunch?" Julie asked.

"No, thanks." Matt knew that he would have to pretend he had been ill again. Doubtless JIN 7 would produce another doctor's note in due course. But the thought of lying to his principal had spoiled his appetite. He set off an hour later, taking his bicycle, which had been returned to the house by the Tomoeda police. He cycled slowly. It was good to be back in Tomoeda, to be surrounded by normal life. He turned off the Kiamais Road and pedalled down the side road where-it felt like a month ago-he had followed the man in the white Suzuki. Suddenly he saw Sakura and Madison up ahead. He waved at them. He saw Sakura glaring at him.

"Oh, now you see us." She said furiously. Matt was stunned, he always saw them. What was Sakura on about? Madison placed a hand on Sakura's shoulder.

"It doesn't matter now, he saw us. Where you going?" she asked.

"School, the principal wants to see me."

"Good luck, with that. We'll meet you later." She said as she waved goodbye. Matt pealed on. The school loomed up ahead of him. It was empty now and would remain so until the summer term. But as Matt arrived, he saw a figure walking across the yard to the school gates and recognized Mr. Kimono, the elderly school caretaker.

"You again!"

"Hello, Burns," Matt said. That was what everyone called him.

"On your way to see Mr. Saotome?"

"Yeah." The caretaker shook his head.

"He never told me he was going to be here today. But he never tells me anything! I'm just going down to the shops. I'll be back at five to lock up, so make sure you're out by then."

"Right, Burns."

There was nobody in the school yard. It felt strange, walking across the tarmac on his own. The school seemed bigger with nobody there, the yard stretching out too far between the white washed wall buildings with the sun beating down, reflecting off the windows. Matt was dazzled. He had never seen the place so empty and so quiet. The grass on the playing fields looked almost too green. Any school without schoolchildren has its own peculiar atmosphere, and Readington was no exception. Mr. Saotome had an office in D block, which was next to the science building. Matt reached the swinging doors and opened them. The walls here would normally be covered in posters, but they had all been taken down at the end of the term. Everything was blank, off-white. There was another door open to one side. Burns had been cleaning the main laboratory. He had rested his mop and bucket to one side when he had gone to the shops-to pick up cigarettes, Matt presumed. The man had been a chain smoker all his life and Matt knew he'd die with a cigarette between his lips. Matt climbed up the stairs, his heels rapping against the stone surface. He reached a corridor-left for biology, right for physics-and continued straight ahead. A second corridor, with full-length windows on both sides, led into D block. Saotome's study was directly ahead of him. He stopped at the door, vaguely wondering if he should have dressed up for the meeting. Saotome was always snapping at boys with their shirts hanging out or at the girls for wearing inappropriate stockings. Matt was wearing a black hoodie with purple flames, T-shirt, jeans, and Adidas sneakers-the same clothes he had worn that morning at JIN 7. His hair was still flat for his liking, although he had been growing accustom to it. All in all, he still looked like a juvenile delinquent-but it was too late now. And anyway, Saotome didn't want to see him to discuss his appearance. His nonappearance at school was more to the point.

He knocked on the door.

"Come in!" a voice called.

Matt opened the door and walked into the principal's study, a cluttered room with views over the school yard. There was a desk ' piled high with papers, and a black leather chair with its back toward the door. A cabinet full of trophies stood against one wall. The others were mainly lined with books.

"You wanted to see me," Matt said.

The chair turned slowly around.

Matt froze.

It wasn't Henry Saotome sitting behind the desk.

It was himself.

He was looking at a fifteen-year-old boy with fair flat hair, Blue eyes, and a slim, pale face. The boy was even dressed identically to him. It took Matt what felt like an eternity to accept what he was seeing. He was standing in a room looking at himself sitting in a chair. The boy was him.

With just one difference.

The boy was holding a gun.

"I've been waiting for this moment," he said. Matt didn't move. He knew what he was facing and he was angry with himself for not having expected it. When he had been handcuffed at the academy, Dr. Sorrow had boasted to him that he had cloned himself sixteen times. But that morning Mrs. Jensen had traced "all fifteen of them." That left one spare-one boy waiting to take his place in the family of George Hiroku. Matt had glimpsed him while he was at the academy. Now he remembered the figure with the white mask, watching him from a window as he walked over to the ski jump. The white mask had been bandages. The new Matt had been spying on him as he recovered from the plastic surgery that had made the two of them identical. And even today there had been clues. Perhaps it had been the heat of the sun, or the fallout from his visit to JIN 7. But he had been too wrapped up in his own thoughts to see them.

Julie, when he got home. "I thought you'd just gone out.''

Sakura and Madison, on his way to school. "Oh now you see us."

Burns, at the gate. "You again!" They had all thought they'd seen him. And in a sense, they had. They had seen the boy sitting opposite him. The boy who was now aiming a gun at his heart.

"You have no idea how much pleasure I'm going to get from this," the other boy said, and despite the hatred in his voice, Matt couldn't help marvelling. The voice wasn't the same as his. The boy hadn't had enough time to get it right. But otherwise he was a perfect copy. He was matt's shadow.

"What are you doing here?" Matt said. "It's all over. The Shadow Project is finished. You might as well turn yourself in. You need help."

"I need just one thing," the second Matt sneered. "I need to see you die. I'm going to shoot you. I'm going to do it now. You killed my father!"

"Your father was a test tube," Matt said. "You never had a mother or a father. You're a in the French Alps, like a cuckoo clock. What are you going to do when you've killed me? Take my place? You wouldn't last a week. You may look like me, but too many people know what Sorrow was trying to do. And I'm sorry, but you've got 'fake' written all over you. And besides I know one thing that shows that you're a fake."

"And what that be?" the boy rasped with venom. Matt pointed to his own neck.

"Right here, are the letters HS, Howard Sorrow. The man was so ignorant and full with pride he wanted to show the whole world his creation."

"Shut up! We would have had everything! We would have had the whole world!" The replica Matt almost screamed the words, and for a moment Matt thought he heard Dr. Sorrow somewhere in there, blaming him from beyond the grave. But then the creature in front of him was Dr. Sorrow... or part of him. "I don't care what happens to me," he went on, "Just so long as you're dead." The hand with the gun stretched out. The barrel was pointing at him. Matt looked the boy straight in the eyes. And he saw the hesitation. The fake Matt couldn't quite bring himself to do it. They were too similar. The same clothes, the same bodies, the same faces. For the other boy, it would be like shooting himself. Matt still hadn't closed the door. He threw himself backward, out into the corridor. At the same time, the gun went off, the bullet exploding inches above his head and crashing into the far wall. Matt hit the ground on his back and rolled out of the doorway as a second bullet slammed into the floor. And then he was running, putting as much space between himself and his double as he could. There was a third shot as he sprinted down the corridor, and the window next to him shattered, glass showering down. Matt reached the stairs and took them three at a time, afraid that he would trip and break an ankle. But then he was at the bottom, heading for the main door, swerving only when he realized that he would make too easy a target as he crossed the school yard. Instead he dived into the laboratory, almost falling headfirst over Burns' bucket and mop.

The laboratory was long and rectangular, divided into workstations with Bunsen burners, flasks, and dozens of bottles of chemicals spread out on shelves that stretched the full length of the room. There was another door at the far end. Matt dived behind the farthest desk. Would his double have seen him come in? Might he be looking for him, even now, out in the yard? Cautiously, Matt poked his head over the surface, and then ducked down as four bullets ricocheted around him, splintering the wood and smashing one of the gas pipes. Matt heard the hiss of escaping gas.

"Stop!" he yelled "The gas it's going to-" Then there was another gunshot and an explosion that hurled him backward, sprawling onto the floor. The last bullet had ignited the gas. Flames leapt up, licking at the ceiling. At the same time, the sprinkler system went off, spraying the entire room. Matt tracked back on his hands and feet, searching for shelter behind fire and water, hoping the other Matt would be blinded. His shoulders hit the far door. He scrambled to his feet. There was another shot. But then he was through-with another corridor and a second flight of stairs straight ahead. The stairs led nowhere. He was halfway up before he remembered. There was an open roof gym area, where all basket type sports were carried out. It was also used for biology and by the plant club. It had a spiral staircase leading to the roof. The school had run out of land and that they'd planned to build a roof garden. Then they'd run out of money. There were a couple of greenhouses, a couple of hoops and bleachers for observations. Nothing more. There was no way down! Matt looked over his shoulder and saw the other Matt reloading his gun, already on his way up. He had no choice. He had to continue even though he would soon be trapped. He reached the roof and slammed the door shut behind him. There was no lock, and the bleachers were all bolted into the floor. Otherwise he might be able to make a barricade. The spiral staircase was ahead of him. He ran up it without stopping, through another door and onto the roof. Matt stopped to catch his breath and see what he could do next. He was standing on a wide, flat area with a 10 foot fence running all the way around. There were half a dozen terra-cotta pots filled with earth. A few plants sprouted out, looking more dead than alive. A row of bleachers stood next to a basketball court of sorts. Matt sniffed the air. Smoke was curling up from the windows two floors below, and he realized that the sprinkler system had been unable to put out the fire. He thought of the gas, pouring into the room, and the chemicals stacked up on the shelves.

He could be standing on a time bomb! He had to find a way down. But then he heard the sound of feet on metal and realized that his double had reached the top of the spiral staircase. Matt ducked behind one of the greenhouses. The door crashed open. Smoke followed the fake Matt out onto the roof. He took a step forward. Now Matt was behind him.

"Where are you?" the fake Matt shouted. His hair was soaked and his face contorted with anger. Matt knew his moment had come. He would never have a better chance. He ran forward. The other Matt twisted around and fired. The bullet creased his shoulder, a molten sword drawn across his flesh. But a second later he had reached him, grabbing him around the neck with one hand and seizing hold of his wrist with the other, forcing the gun away. There was a huge explosion in the laboratory below and the entire building shook, but neither of the boys seemed to notice. They were locked in an embrace, two reflections that had become tangled up in the mirror, the gun over their heads, fighting for control. The flames were tearing through the building. Fed by a variety of chemicals, they burst through the floor, melting the asphalt. In the far distance, the scream of fire engines penetrated the sun-filled air. Matt pulled with all his strength, trying to bring the gun down. The other Matt clawed at him, swearing-not in English but in Afrikaans.

The end came very suddenly.

The gun twisted and fell to the ground.

One Matt lashed out; knocking the other one down, then dived for the gun.

There was another explosion, and a sheet of chemical flame leapt up. A crater had suddenly appeared in the roof, swallowing up the gun. The boy saw it too late and fell through. With a yell, he disappeared into the smoke and fire. Plunging into hell head first.

One Matt Ishida walked over to the hole and looked down.

The other Matt Ishida lay on his back, two floors below. He wasn't moving. The flames were closing in. The first fire engines had arrived at the school. A ladder slanted up toward the roof. A boy with short fair hair and brown eyes wearing a black hoodie with purple flames, T-shirt, and jeans, walked to the edge of the roof and began to climb down. Sakura and Madison hurried to the caution tape to try and see matt, they grew worried once they saw the thick black smoke.

"Matt!" sakura screamed once she saw him covered in black dust. He walked over to them almost collapsing. As he approached them, he tripped. They dove under the Caution tape and ran towards him; sakura caught him in her arms and blushed. He was coughing and bringing up dust from the explosion. "Are you ok matt?" She asked.

"Matt, why is your shoulder bleeding?" Madison screamed as she saw blood seeping from the wound. The fireman approached them and asked matt.

"What's your name son?" as matt finished coughing he said to the fireman.

"I'm Matt Ishida, who else would I be?" He smiled.


	20. Heart Stopper

**Agent Matt: Academy of Shadows **

**Chapter 20: Heart Stopper**

It was another perfect day in the South of France. Once again, the Mistral — that irritating wind which pokes in from the North West — had decided to stay away and the sky was a huge, empty blue. In Tomoeda, the summer had got off to its usual, shaky start. It was pouring with rain. But the French Riviera, the famous Côte D'Azur, knew nothing of that. Here the sun rose early, shone all day and only crept behind the horizon reluctantly and with the promise that it would soon Ishida stood on the terrace of the villa at Mont Boron, just outside Nice. From here he had a stunning view of the entire bay with the beaches of the Promenades Anglais sweeping round in a great curve that reached all the way to the airport at the far end. Even as he watched, a British Airways jet took off, tiny in the distance, rising steeply before banking left, corkscrewing up into the sky. It was a reminder that tomorrow he too would be returning home. The visit would be over all too quickly.

This had been a stolen weekend. A school friend of his — Madison Taylor — had an incredibly rich uncle and aunt with a villa perched on the rock face: a couple of living rooms, three bedrooms and a series of terraces, one above the other, with a circular swimming pool at the bottom and a vertical drop to the Mediterranean far below. Madison had been invited out and she had taken Matt with her — she would of asked sakura, but she was going on a trip with her family. five days of luxury and a welcome break from school. Everyone was given an extra week off school due to a mysterious fire, Madison secretly knew the truth but she wouldn't tell anyone, she and sakura promised and Adeline Taylor were pleasant enough, a married couple with no children of their own. He was Japanese. She was French. The two of them ran a gardening and maintenance business looking after holiday homes. If there had been one fly in the ointment, it was that Adeline was always worrying about the boy. She had watched in horror as he jumped off the terrace and into the pool. She didn't want him to go out on his own — she was afraid he'd get lost. When Madison and matt had gone snorkeling near the old port, she had been hunched up on the beach, certain he'd be run over by one of the ferries heading out to Corsica. She was a real "tantine", Matt thought. Not so much an aunt as an auntie, with a touch of the granny thrown in too. But she was also a wonderful cook and in the evenings, after a few glasses of wine, she seemed more relaxed. Most nights they'd eaten in. Kenji Taylor insisted that the restaurants in Nice were mainly over-priced and strictly for tourists. And with the views from the villa — the sea glowing red and the city ablaze with pinpricks of light — there was nowhere else that Matt would rather have been.

"So what are you doing this morning?" Matt hadn't heard Kenji Taylor step out on to the terrace behind him. Madison's uncle was wearing a white jacket and a Panama hat. He was on his way to visit a relative at Villefranche just down the coast and for some reason Madison had to go with him. Until lunchtime, Matt would be on his own.

"I'm happy staying here," Matt said. "I can hang out by the pool."

"Nonsense!" Kenji came over and stood beside him. "This is your last day. You ought to do something memorable." He thought for a moment, then a gleam came into his eyes. "Have you ever been parasailing?"

"No."

"Well, it's great fun. You're not scared of heights, are you?"

"Not really."

"Then you should give it a go." He called back into the kitchen. "Adeline! Why don't you take Matt down to the Blue Beach?" Adeline appeared in the doorway, dressed in a long black french maids outfit.. She was holding a plate, wiping it dry. "He wants to go parasailing," Kenji explained. This wasn't quite true. But that was the way with Kenji Taylor. Once he'd got an idea into his head, he always assumed that everyone would agree. Adeline frowned.

"Why do you always have to suggest these dangerous sports?" she scolded. She spoke perfect English but with an accent.

"It's not dangerous. It'll give him a laugh — if it doesn't scare the socks off him first."

Somehow, Matt didn't think that being dragged behind a motorboat while attached to a half-sized parachute would be particularly frightening . . . not after what he had been through just a couple of months before. He had been forced to launch himself out of a cargo plane, 20,000ft above Tomoeda, crash-landing through the glass roof of the Science Museum moments before the deadly V Tech computers had been activated all over the country. And there had been a second parachute jump here in France — storming the deadly, Shadow Academy high up in the Alps, near Grenoble. Not of course that he could tell Kenji or Adeline Taylor anything about it. He only told Madison and sakura . . . no one else at Readington School knew.

At 11 o'clock that morning, a worried-looking Madison ("Visiting old people I don't even know isn't my idea of a holiday") set off with her uncle and Adeline drove Matt down the steeply winding Boulevard Carnot that led into the old port of Nice and then round the headland into the city itself. She was wearing the french maid outfit again today, she had been wearing everyday of matt's visit, is this how she always dressed or was it just for show. Madison was worried about him getting into trouble while in a foreign country, he simply replied.

"Don't worry I'll be fine." That made her worry more, but she bravely smiled and said nothing more about it.

The beaches were already busy. The holiday season had barely begun but this was a Saturday and the water was unusually warm and clear enough to be inviting. They parked near the Opera House and crossed the main road with the sea in front of them. Matt had noticed two or three facilities offering parasailing and other water sports. From his balcony, he had watched the miniature figures dangling underneath the wisps of brightly coloured silk as they were towed up and down the bay. He was actually quite looking forward to trying it for himself. It looked fun and it would surely be very peaceful, hanging over the water in his own little space between the sea and the sky. At least nobody would be trying to machine-gun was also going to be expensive — €40 for around ten minutes. But Julie had given him plenty of euros before he left and so far the Taylors hadn't let him pay for anything. He and Adeline reached a makeshift hut on the beach where two slim and permanently suntanned Australians were getting everything ready while a third man, on a speed boat, waited to launch the ride. The parachute that would lift Matt into the air was already spread out on the shingle. A narrow strip of carpet led down to the edge of the water. The runway.

"You gonna give it a try, mate?" The Australian had somehow guessed that he was Japanese.

"Sure. Why not?" Matt handed over two €20 notes.

"OK. Let's get you kitted out." Adeline watched unhappily as Matt was given a life-jacket, which he buckled across his chest. The Australian held up a harness which was nothing more than a strong canvas belt, shaped like a figure-of-eight with two industrial hooks like the ones used by mountain climbers — carabiners — one on each side. The harness was fastened around his waist.

"This way . . ." The Australian led him across to the carpet. At the same time, Adeline came over to him.

"Matt, do you mind terribly if I don't watch? To be honest, this whole thing makes me nervous. If you like, I can buy you an ice cream for when you come down." She nodded at some shops on the other side of the Promenade des Anglais.

"Thank you." It made no difference to Matt if she was there or not.

"What flavor would you like?"

"Strawberry, please."

"All right." Adeline took one last glance at the tangle of ropes, the waiting parachute. "Enjoy yourself," she said, but without much conviction.

The Australian was in a hurry to get Matt airborne. The sooner he was finished, the sooner he might be able to sell another ride. "When the boat starts, you take three or four steps," he explained as he handed Matt a black, metal bar with about a dozen different cords leading back to the parachute. He snapped the two carabiners into place. The parachute was now securely attached to Matt's waist. When he took off, the metal bar would be pulled above his head. A long rope led from the bar to a pole in the motorboat, just behind the driver's noticed that the driver of the motorboat was smoking. It seemed slightly odd and out-of-sorts with what was meant to be a healthy, outdoor activity. The driver was old and overweight. He was hunched over the steering wheel and didn't seem happy at Australian must have seen the look in Matt's eyes. "That's Kristof," he said. "The usual guy's got the day off. But don't worry. He'll give you a good ride." Kristof stepped back and took hold of one corner of the parachute. The other Australian did the same, the two of them holding it up so that it would catch the wind. One of them gave a signal. Kristof sat down and gunned the engine. Matt saw the boat move forward and the rope began to go taut.

He took three steps and rose effortlessly off the beach. He could barely even feel the parachute pulling him — all the strain was taken by the harness and divided equally between his thighs. As the boat picked up speed, he climbed faster until he was about twenty meters above the water. He noticed the various swimmers watch him go. There must have been 40 or 50 people in the sea and maybe a couple of hundred more, spread out on towels on the public beach or lying sardine-like on the blue and white sun loungers on the private Plage Neptune next door. A couple of children, both about six years old, waved at him as he soared above them. The speedboat was an American-built Tige 21V Fox Racer, 20ft 6in long with a single 315 horsepower outboard engine. It was speeding down a narrow channel between two lines of buoys with the open sea ahead. Matt was quite surprised by how high up he was. From this height, even Kristof seemed to be doll-sized. Matt watched as the driver flicked his cigarette into the slipstream. That surprised him too. The butt of a cigarette is made of cellulose acetate, a type of plastic, and would take years to biodegrade. It would also seep out tiny amounts of lead, formaldehyde, cadmium and arsenic. Hardly very ecological! He put it out of his mind. He was actually enjoying this. They were still heading out to sea, leaving Nice behind them, and Matt felt a strange sense of both calm and exhilaration. He was too high up to hear the Tige's engine. The sun was sparkling off the sea, the wind rushing through his hair. He would be sorry when Kristof turned round and headed back but he knew that the ride would last ten minutes at the most.

Suddenly Kristof stood up. He turned as if about to shout out to Matt. Then he clutched at his chest and toppled sideways, landing on the steering wheel.

He lay still. The boat surged on towards the horizon. Dangling high above, Matt couldn't quite believe what he had just seen. From the look of it, Kristof had just suffered some sort of stroke or heart attack. It was hard to say if he was dead or alive, but he was certainly unmoving, his hands hanging limply above the deck. Matt almost wanted to laugh. This could only happen to him! Well, it looked as if he was going to get a rather longer ride than he had bargained for.

He waited for Kristof to wake up.

Kristof didn't wake up.

Matt took stock of the situation. He was in no real danger. Provided the Tige kept moving forward, he would continue to fly behind it. It wouldn't take very long for the Australians to realize that something had gone wrong. They would raise the alarm and send another boat after him. Somehow they would have to climb on to the Tige and bring it back to shore, slowing it down so that Matt could descend. Then they would call an ambulance for the unfortunate Kristof. Perhaps, after this, he would think of quitting boat, left to itself, was still speeding in a more or less straight line. Matt glanced back. Nice was now a long way away, the sun glinting off the flats and the hotels, packed together, facing the sea with the mountains behind. Despite his first thoughts, Matt was getting a little uneasy. He had absolutely no control over the situation. He really was a puppet on a string. Could he unhook the carabiners? It might be possible if he shifted some of his weight on to the metal bar, which was now above his head. Then he would be able to let go and drop down into the water. But that would do no good at all. From this height, he would probably break both his legs. And even if he survived the fall, it would be all too easy to get lost at then the Tige must have been hit by a little wave. Kristof slid off the steering wheel and fell back, slumping against the rope that connected Matt to the boat. The movement caused the wheel to turn. The speedboat cut a complete circle in the water and began to head back the way it had come. Matt felt himself being pulled round. Suddenly he was facing Nice and realized, with a jolt of horror, exactly what was going to happen next.

Unless Kristof recovered consciousness, which seemed unlikely, the boat would keep going until it hit the beach, slamming its way through any swimmers who happened to be in the way. Matt would be all right — he was safe so long as he was up in the air — but other people would be killed. And what about the dozens of sunbathers on their beach towels? And the children. Unless the boat was stopped, it would plough across the shingle and into them too. Matt was four, or maybe five minutes away from a bloody catastrophe. And perhaps the most horrible part of it was that he had been given a grandstand seat.

There was nothing he could do.

Or was there? If Matt could get into the boat, he could take over the controls ... slow down and stop. But how was that possible when he was 20m up in the air? The carabiners! Matt reached up and grasped the metal bar, using it to drag his weight upwards. That took the strain off the hooks and, with great difficulty, he managed to unhook one of them, contorting his body and reaching back with one hand. Then he did the same on the other side. This was even more difficult, because once the second hook was unfastened, all his weight would be transferred to his wrists and hands — and if he let go, he would fall.

The beach was getting closer. The boat seemed to be drawn to it. Why couldn't another wave hit it and turn it back again?

The second hook came free. Now Matt was clinging to the bar with the harness hanging uselessly off his thighs. All the pleasure had gone out of the ride. He could imagine the crushing impact if he let go and fell. And then, minutes later, the carnage as the boat smashed into the beach. He still had to get down to the level of the water. That was the second phase of what he had planned. And he knew how to do it. On his first mission, chasing after the V Tech computers, he had been given parachute training by the SAT in the Nagano Prefecture, and part of it had involved emergency procedures. If he could fold the edge of the parachute in against the wind, he would be able to force a controlled descent. He looked up and caught sight of two coloured cords. That was what he was looking for. It wasn't easy. Having unhooked himself, he was now supporting all his own weight and as he let go with one hand, he felt the strain on the other. There was no time to rest. No time to hesitate. Nice was looming ahead of him. He could already see the swimmers — dots in the distance — bobbing up and down in the water, close to the shingle. The Tige was heading straight for them, almost deliberately, as if it wanted to do as much harm as possible before it crashed into the beach. Matt still hoped that Kristof would come to, get up and see what was happening. But he wasn't moving. He was as still as a corpse. Somehow, Matt's flailing hand caught hold of the rope. With the breeze beating at his face, he transferred some of his weight and pulled with all his strength, expecting the parachute to fold in on itself and then flutter down. But it didn't work. With a sense of dismay, he realized that, as the boat ploughed forward the rush of the wind was too great. He couldn't fight it. He was stuck in mid-air. He could still save himself. All he had to do was let go and he would fall. He might break a few bones but the life jacket wouldn't let him drown. The people on the beach would be less fortunate. Matt remembered the two young children he had seen in the water. What if they were hit? Ahead of him, the buildings were getting closer and closer. He could make out the improbable pink and green roof of the exclusive Negresco Hotel ... he could even read the letters of its name. How much longer did he have? A couple of minutes. Not more. He pulled again. The cord didn't give an inch.

He was saved by the unlikely help of an Easy Jet airbus coming in to land at Nice airport. It was far too high up to be any threat to him, but all the parasailing companies were aware of the blowback from the jet engines and the danger they could pose. Matt never even saw the plane — but he felt the blast as it hit the parachute. He pulled one last time, the silk folded and suddenly he was plunging down, the water rushing up. He hit it with two feet — not hard enough to do himself damage. Even so, he was shocked by the impact. One moment he had been floating in the air, the next he was being dragged at speed through the sea, salt water lashing into his face. He was blinded. He couldn't even open his eyes. At the very last moment, he had let go of the parachute — which had been instantly dragged away behind him — and transferred his grip to the tow-rope. This was the critical moment. Time was running out. He might have seconds rather than minutes left. He forced his eyes open. The Tige was in front of him. Fighting against the rush of the water, he began to pull himself forward, one hand over the other. He was being bounced violently up and down, the water pounding into him. He could hardly breathe. His arms were being torn out of their sockets. He was being tortured a dozen different ways. But the boat was getting nearer. Now Matt became aware of one last danger. The Tige's propeller was chopping up the water, turning it into a vicious white froth. If Matt tried to drag himself over it, he would be chopped up too. Gasping for breath, he hoisted himself above the surface, peering through the curtain of water that hammered into his face. He had been lucky. When Kristof had fallen, he had snagged the rope, carrying it slightly to the side. As Matt drew himself towards the back of the boat, the propeller was horribly close. He could feel it, churning the water, inches from his stomach and legs. But by turning on his side, he was just able to avoid it. There was a duckboard at the back of the boat. Matt reached it and caught hold of a stanchion at the very corner. He had used up almost all his strength. He was choking. The roar of the water was in his ears. He cried out and pulled himself up. Somehow his body came clear. He felt the wooden deck under the life jacket across his chest. He wriggled forward. He was on board!

He looked up and saw at once that he was too late. The Tige was travelling at about forty miles per hour and the first swimmers were only meters away. Matt could see the horror in their eyes as they took in what was about to happen. On the beach, sunbathers were rising out of their loungers, staring open-mouthed, watching the disaster unfolding in front of them. Someone screamed. Matt could pull back the throttle, cut the engine. But even that wouldn't help. Propelled by its own momentum, the boat would still shoot forward, its prow crashing into them before it hit the beach and stopped. People would die. He had no doubt of it at all. In the last remaining seconds, Matt threw himself forward. Ignoring the unconscious driver, he grabbed hold of the wheel and wrenched it to one side. The prow swung round, missing the first of the swimmers by centimeters. There were people everywhere. Matt swung the wheel the other way, weaving through them. He heard more screams, rising even above the roar of the outboard motor. Somehow, he managed to avoid them the Tige had reached the beach. The shingle was right in front of him.

The bottom of the boat was grinding against the shallows. Finally, Matt pulled back on the throttle even as the propeller came into contact with the ocean floor and shattered. He felt the whole deck shudder. And then he had left the water. He was on dry land, sun-loungers and umbrellas on one side of him, beach towels on the other, a blur of astonished faces watching him as he shot past. At the very end, he twisted the steering wheel one last time. There was a narrow gulley with boulders on both sides and straight ahead, directly underneath the Promenade des Anglais, a dark tunnel with a wire fence blocking the entrance. Some sort of storm drain. The boat was slowing down, dragging against the ground.

The prow hit the wire.

The boat stopped.

Matt heard shouting behind him — a gabble of French voices, quickly, he unfastened the life jacket and the harness. Someone else would look after the unconscious driver and he had no desire to answer questions. Before anyone could reach him, he dropped out of the boat and ran up a flight of steps leading to the main road. He had no sooner reached the top than he saw Adeline on the other side, coming out of an ice-cream shop with a cone in each hand. Matt was dripping wet. He was only wearing his swimming shorts. Fortunately, in Nice, he didn't look out of place.

Dodging the traffic, he ran over to her.

"Matt!" She was surprised to see him. "What happened? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Matt had no intention of telling her what had happened. He looked back. He had moved so fast that nobody had seen where he had gone.

"Where's your T-shirt? And your sandals?"

"They were stolen."

"Stolen? But that's terrible!"

"It doesn't matter. I've got more back at the house." Matt took one of the ice-cream cones. He needed something to cool him down. "Can we go home?" he asked.

"Of course. But how was the parasailing? Did you enjoy it?" Matt glanced back one last time. He could hear the scream of an approaching ambulance. He could imagine the pandemonium on the beach.

"Well," he said. "It was certainly a heart stopping ride." He then smiled and said nothing more about it.


End file.
